


only a heartbeat away

by kohee



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternative Universe - Bodyguard, Alternative Universe - President, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 08:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8095795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kohee/pseuds/kohee
Summary: President Rafael Barba certainly doesn't have time for something as frivolous as a relationship. But with his life under threat, and with the appearance of Secret Service Deputy Director Olivia Benson, he might want to rethink his stance a little. [President/Bodyguard AU]





	1. 01: the scene is set, we play our parts

**Author's Note:**

> chaptered fic; _only a heartbeat away 01 (the scene is set, we play the parts)_  
>  pairing: rafael barba/olivia benson  
> word count: 3343 words  
> note: a bodyguard-ish AU inspired by a tweet liked by Mariska and the #BarbaForPrez hashtag. Title of fic and chapter titles taken from Vixens’ Only a Heartbeat Away.

It was raining heavily, and he couldn't help but think what a cliché it was - a thunderstorm at a funeral.

“President Barba.”

Barba looked up, giving a small, perceptible nod to the man that was standing beside him, holding an umbrella.

“President Barba, it’s time to go.”

“Give me another minute,” he said, his tone quiet but authoritative. He stared at the gravestone in front of him, his hands clasped. He was glad that he remembered his sunglasses as he was leaving his office for the funeral. He wasn’t crying, but he thought the effort to hold back his tears had probably rendered his eyes bloodshot.

Eddie Garcia was not only his bodyguard, his Deputy Director of the Secret Service, but Eddie Garcia was also his childhood protector and his best friend.

And now, Eddie was dead, gone, because he took a bullet – no, _bullets_ – for the President.

Barba would never forget that moment when he saw that glint of a gun in the crowd, and then Eddie, leaping forwards and pushing him aside, pushing him towards his security team and standing in the line of fire.

And then the gunshots, and Barba watched as his best friend fell into a heap on the ground.

His first instinct was to rush forward, refusing to believe that was _Eddie_ in a pool of blood. Eddie, who had always been larger than life, but was then looking so small lying on the asphalt. Before he could move, a dozen number of Secret Service Special Agents and Officers held him back, shielding him as his security team leapt into action and whisked him to safety.

Eddie didn’t survive, he found that out approximately two hours later, when he was sitting in the Oval Office and listening to his entire team – from the Vice President to his Chief of Staff to the Director of Secret Service to the Press Secretary – formulate a plan to keep him literally under lock and key for the next century – or however long his presidential term was going to be.

He had then quietly excused himself upon receiving the news, and he was thankful that everyone allowed him that tiny window of space to grief.

Eddie was buried, with full honors, two days after the shooting.

Barba had managed to hold himself together during the entire funeral service, knowing that the whole world is watching – including those who tried to kill him – and also knowing that the President was not supposed to lose composure at any given moment.

But now that it was just him and Eddie. Barba felt an enormous sense of loss as he knelt down, brushing his fingers across the craving of his best friend’s name.

_I’m sorry, Eddie. I miss you already._

“President Barba.” The Director of the Secret Service – Edward Tucker – approached him. “Sir, we have to go.”

Barba straightened himself and stood up, brushing the dirt of the knees of his pants and shrugging on his suit jacket.

“Let’s go, then,” he said simply, and left the cemetery, bidding his friend a silent goodbye.

* * *

“Sir, I would really advise against you attending the Children’s Summit in Brooklyn,” Fin Tutuola, his Chief of Staff, tapped his pen against the table. “In terms of security…”

“It will then be the security’s team to ascertain my safety in Brooklyn, isn’t that correct, Mr. Tutuola?” Barba commented, not looking up as he flipped through the folder in his hands. “I promised the community that I will attend the summit and I will not renegade on that. “

“Mr. President, to be honest, I think your situation is a little delicate right now, and I am of opinion that we perhaps should…”

“Where’s Director Tucker?” He interrupted. “I thought he was to be here for this morning briefing as well.”

Fin bit back a sigh, as he looked at Donald Cragen, the Secretary of State. The older man shook his head and lifted his shoulders in a shrug. He wasn’t here for this discussion of the President’s security. Cragen was to attend a meeting with China’s Foreign Minister in two days’ time, and he had to ascertain a few important details with the President.

“Director Tucker is en route,” Press Secretary Amanda Rollins looked up from her phone. “He’s bringing in the new Deputy Director for the morning briefing.”

Barba looked up, unable to stop the brief flash of rage coursing through his body. Realistically he knew, of course, that he needed a new Deputy Director for the Secret Service. But the emotional part of him resented that they had replaced Eddie within a blink of an eye - he was just buried yesterday.

Swallowing his unreasonable anger, Barba nodded and picked up another folder. “Where are we with the new proposal that National Security Council is to have finalised?”

“Vice President Calhoun will be meeting with the Director later this afternoon, Sir. You have a four o’clock meeting with her, and she will brief you and Mr. Cragen as well,” Fin informed.

“Miss Rollins, have you prepared a press statement for my attendance at the Children’s Summit? I trust that you have it ready for me to review this morning?”

“Certainly, Mr. President,” she said briskly, handing him a crisp printout of two pages.

Barba skimmed over the press release, nodding to himself, as a knock sounded on the door. Special Agent Dominick Carisi immediately went to the door, and opened it to reveal Director Tucker and a tall brunette, dressed in a pin-striped suit.

He raised an eyebrow, sipping his coffee as they both walked into the room and stood before him. He scruntinised the woman, determining her to the new Deputy Director for the Secret Service.

She was rather beautiful, he thought, even though he didn’t usually judge women by their looks – that was not the most important (or even an important) thing to him. The new Deputy Director had a fierce air of authority about her, she looked confident, intelligent and he had no doubt that she would be supremely competent at her job.

She just wasn’t his best friend, that was all.

“President Barba, this is Olivia Benson, the new Deputy Director for the Secret Service,” Director Tucker announced. Tucked under his arm was a thick folder that Barba knew entailed Olivia Benson’s career and accolades, in which he knew would be going through sometime in the day.

Standing up, Barba buttoned the cuffs of his shirt briskly and held out his hand to her. “Deputy Director Benson, very pleased to meet you.”

“The honor is mine, Mr. President,” she replied, shaking his hand firmly. “And please do address me as Benson.”

“Benson it will be then,” he said briskly. “Take a seat. I trust that Director Tucker has briefed you on your journey here, and we can jump straight back into the morning briefing?”

Special Officer Nick Amaro pulled up two chairs as the Secret Service took their seats around Barba’s table, as he handed back the press release to Rollins. “This is fine,” he said. “Run it when you see fit.”

“On the Children’s Summit, Sir,” Tucker began. “I believe that our advice to you is that you sit this one out and send a representative?”

“Yes, I believe that was your advice but I also believe that I’m not taking it,” Barba said calmly.

Tucker frowned. “Sir, with all due respect, it is advisable that you stay out of the public eye for the next few days…”

“With _all_ due respect, Director,” Barba snapped. “I am not going to hide away like I am _scared,_ like I am _afraid_ of these people _._ I have a job to do, and I intend to do it. And I suggest you do the same.”

Tucker shut his mouth, tightening his lips. “Yes, sir.”

Barba threw a glance at Benson, and the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smirk. “I believe you will be hearing from Director Tucker – if you haven’t already – and the rest of the staff about how _extremely difficult_ I am.”

Olivia smiled as the rest of the staff chuckled a little. Certainly she had heard stories about President Rafael Barba – how he was not the friendliest man around. As a politician, he certainly knew how to play his cards with the people, but as President, Barba expected a _lot_ out of himself, and therefore it applied to everyone else around him.

He was also legendary for his sharp tongue – being a lawyer and a District Attorney before he entered the office, he certainly wasn’t known for being sensitive, and he was never one to mince his words.

But looking at the small company of staff around him, she could feel that most of them – except Tucker, perhaps – held a genuine affection for the President.

“Well? Brief me on the security procedures.”

Tucker shot Olivia a look, and she understood. Clearing her throat, she opened the folder in her hands and began to give him a rundown of the security detail, the team, the procedures.

“And finally, Director Tucker has decided that I will be following you at all times, Mr. President, just to have another person of authority close by,” she concluded. “Special Officer Carisi and Special Agent Amaro will be permanent team members of your security detail as of now, with other agents officers on rotation. At any given time, one or all three of us _will_ be with you.”

Barba rolled his eyes at the thought, but he nodded, understanding the need for this, no matter how annoyed he may feel. He chose not to say anything – he was definitely not looking forward to another lecture by Fin about how he was underestimating the threat in the face of bravado.

He wasn’t underestimating _anything_. He, of all people, knew how real the danger was. He lost his best friend, for fuck’s sake.

But he was the President, he wasn’t going to hide, and there was no way in hell he was going let the bastards win.

* * *

Amaro slipped into the driver’s seat as Carisi opened the door for Barba. “Mr. President, Deputy Director…or should I call you boss lady?” He joked.

Barba snorted and slid inside the car as Olivia smiled briefly at him. “Benson is fine, Agent Carisi.”

“Nobody would say you can’t speak if you don’t say anything,” Amaro muttered under his breath as his partner got into the passenger seat beside him.

As Amaro started driving, Olivia quickly noted the inside of the car. She had studied the documents over and over again but this was the first time she was actually _in_ the car and she would need to know every nook and cranny of it.

And she had to admit she was starting to feel just a bit stressed. Throughout the whole morning meeting, the President kept rejecting all suggestions to lower his profile because of security concerns. He was adamant to stick to his schedule as if nothing had changed, refusing to be flexible for the matter of personal safety.

It was frustrating, to say the least, and she was very aware of the danger he could still be in.

“Relax, Benson,” Barba said, scrolling through his phone. “I can feel the waves of tension radiating off you. Regardless of what they have told you about me, I really do not bite.”

Olivia looked at him, suddenly very aware that she was in the backseat of the presidential state car with the President himself. It was her first day on the job and it certainly felt very surreal.

She cleared her throat. “Just making sure that the safety procedures are in order, Sir.”

“I think my quota of getting shot at has been filled for the week, so we should be safe for now,” he said dryly, putting away his phone and giving her a look.

“Sir, I do not take security procedures in jest,” she said sharply. “And I think it would be helpful if you don’t either.”

“And what makes you think I do, Benson?” He asked calmly, buttoning his suit jacket.

“Mr. President,” she began. “I realise that today is my first day as Deputy Director of the Secret Service and as your personal security detail, and perhaps it is not yet my place to say anything. But Sir, I have to say that I do think you are not…placing a lot of concern in your personal safety. If I can say, Sir, it would be good to be more conscientious.”

He shot her a sharp glare, holding up his hand. “And you arrived at that rather significant judge of my character from a two-hour meeting and a fifteen-minute car ride?”

She opened her mouth, and then snapped it shut, flushing. Inwardly, she berated herself. She was completely out of line, but for some weird reason, there was something about the President that was…unnerving her.

And that was completely putting aside the fact that he was the _President_ , and that she was his staff and basically responsible for his _life_.

But it would be absolutely ridiculous to dwell on that, of course.

“Deputy Director Benson, I would suggest perhaps you spend a bit more time with me, a bit more time doing your job, before you make assessments about my character and my personality,” he said, his tone steely. “I do not take matters of personal security lightly. However – and please excuse me for sounding completely patronising - you fail to understand that for someone of my position, I cannot make decisions solely pertaining to my own personal interest.”

“Sir, I apologise, and…”

“Subject closed, Benson,” he interrupted swiftly, and turned away from her, looking out of the window.

* * *

Olivia settled into her role well in the next few days. President Barba was not as difficult as people make him out to be, but still difficult nonetheless. Demanding and sharp he certainly was, but after spending days with him, mostly in close proximity, she was beginning to understand the way he worked.

Director Tucker had suggested that perhaps she could be crafted to be seen as President Barba’s personal secretary and staff, being that she was a woman. She highly resented that female stereotype of secretaries and personal assistants, and Barba vehemently objected to the idea, but then she had to admit that as far as security measure went, it was a workable idea.

No one would actually think that the brunette with the president was actually a former Lieutenant Commander for the US Navy, and an expert markswoman highly trained in hand-to-hand combat.

In the meantime, she was also working with the other agents in the Secret Service in ascertaining the threat to the President. The shooter had not been caught – he had escaped in the chaos after the former Deputy Director was shot, and the team had been going through witness accounts, all cellphone videos and street cameras but as of now, there was very little go on on.

And the President wasn’t pleased but no one could blame him for that.

She knew little about the former Deputy Director, but Tucker had told her that he was actually a close friend of President Barba, and upon hearing that, she felt chastened for her self-righteous reprimanding of the President on her first day.

But what was past was past, and she needed to focus on her job at the meantime, and she had a daunting task ahead of her.

President Barba had decided that he would take a weekend trip to the Bronx, to visit Eddie Garcia’s family. Director Tucker and the rest of the team had objected fervently but Barba was insistent, it was something he had to do.

“I trust Benson and the team to protect me,” he said calmly, as Tucker’s face reddened in frustration.

“Mr. President, excuse my bluntness, but this is foolhardy behaviour,” Tucker said hotly.

“You forget your place, Director,” Barba said coldly, his green eyes flashing angrily.

“Director,” Olivia interrupted, taking a step forward. “I believe the President’s short trip is doable. We need to keep it as a covert operation, with a small team to accompany him. I will take the lead.”

Tucker practically growled under his breath as he glared. “Benson, I have your word on this – and if anything, _anything_ happens – _you_ are solely responsible, you alone.”

“Why, Director, that is supremely magnanimous behaviour,” Barba drawled sarcastically. “I haven’t even left Washington and you’re already throwing your deputy under the bus.”

Tucker flushed. “Sir, let it go on record that the Secret Service _did not_ deem this trip to be safe.”

“Let it go on your record, then,” Barba waved his hand impatiently. “Now, can I trust my Director to at least sit down and plan this with Benson, or are you removing yourself completely?”

Tucker shot Olivia a cold glare as he took his seat beside her. Olivia, on her part, coolly powered up her laptop, and motioned Carisi and Amaro to join them as they mapped out President’s Barba route to the Bronx.

* * *

It was late evening by the time they finished the plan. Tucker stood up, giving Barba a forced handshake and took his leave.

Amaro and Carisi then left to secure the premises and to bring around the presidential state car, for Barba had to attend a state dinner that evening.

“Sir, anytime you’re ready to go,” Olivia strapped in her ankle holster, and straightened to twist her long hair into a bun.

Barba sighed audibly, and tilted his head to look at her. “Care to join me for a drink, Benson?” He asked, reaching for a bottle of scotch on a polished oak dresser near his desk.

She shook her head. “I’m not supposed to, Sir.”

“Such a stickler for rules,” he said, a teasing tone to his voice, as he uncorked the bottle and poured himself a small glass.

Olivia touched her earpiece and spoke rapidly. “Carisi, Amaro, the President is taking a five-minute breather before leaving for the state dinner. Take note of that, bring the car around in exactly ten minutes.”

She stood there, waiting, as Barba sipped his scotch, lost in his own thoughts for a while. “You know, I am honestly very surprised,” he spoke up, breaking the silence between them.

“Sir?” She asked.

“I thought you’ll be just like Tucker, and tell how it’s unsafe, unwise…and forbidding me to go to the Bronx.”

"Sir, it's hardly my place to forbid the President to do anything," she said, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smile. "But it is my job to ensure the President's safety, no matter the circumstances, after all, I am _solely responsible_ for this trip of yours," she smirked, mimicking the tone of Tucker.

He laughed then, and with a jolt, Olivia realised that this was the first time she had heard him truly laughed. His face softened, and he looked less severe, less stern – and suddenly, she realised why people had deemed him to be one of the most attractive Presidents ever to hold office.

He was actually really, really good-looking.

 _Snap out of it, Liv_ , she scolded herself. _Be professional!_

And honestly, she was hardly at the age (or the situation) to be developing inappropriate school-girl crushes, for god’s sake.

Barba finished his scotch and put down the glass, reaching for his suit jacket. “Well, I just want to say a very appreciative thank you to you, Benson.”

She nodded in acknowledgement, leading the way as she opened the door and they both exited the Oval Office together.

“This is a highly important trip to me,” he said, almost to himself, and she looked back at him to see a melancholic, sad expression on his face.

Her heart gave the tiniest tumble and immediately, Olivia squashed it.

It was just the whole novelty of actually working with, and protecting the President of the United States – who just so happened to be a single, and a very attractive man.

Olivia Benson was a grown woman, and the Deputy Director of the Secret Service, and a consummate professional who was excellent at what she did.

Nothing more, and nothing less.


	2. 02: better shelter our hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chaptered fic; _only a heartbeat away 02 (better shelter our hearts) ___  
> pairing: rafael barba/olivia benson  
>  word count: 3595 words  
> note: a bodyguard-ish AU inspired by a tweet liked by Mariska and the #BarbaForPrez hashtag. Title of fic and chapter titles taken from Vixens’ Only a Heartbeat Away.

It was literally the crack of dawn – six o’clock in the morning – when Olivia knocked sharply on the door of the Oval Office. Almost immediately, the door was opened, by a suited Amaro. He nodded at his boss, and then raised his chin towards the inside of the office.

She stepped inside, and saw the President in a serious discussion with Director Tucker, Cragen, Tutuola and the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, Declan Murphy. He was holding a document that she recognised as the President’s Daily Brief in his hands, and Vice President Rita Calhoun was on conference call, her image superimposed on a large flat screen.

“We need more than just this to go on,” Barba said sharply. “I cannot request for the President of China to allow the presence of American intelligence in Xinjiang based on a few intercepted phone calls and grainy satellite images.”

“Mr. President, these documents…” Murphy held up a thick folder. “…are phone records over a period of eighteen months between the most powerful and influential Muslim clerics in Afghanistan and Xinjiang. The satellite images are telling as well. These are the results of a three-year CIA investigation, and we have to be in Xinjiang for the next phase of the investigation.”

“Director Murphy, these phone records could frankly be interpreted in a thousand different ways. I am not about to risk diplomatic relations with China based on…”

“Sir, if I may,” Cragen began. “I perhaps could touch base with the Foreign Minister of China regarding this issue, and maybe we can proceed from there.”

“I agree,” Vice President Calhoun’s voice rang out. “It’s a good plan to see where China is at with this situation, and what their intelligence has gathered. Proceed with caution, Cragen. Share the bare minimum of what we have.”

Barba pursed his lips, tapping his pen on the table, thinking hard.

“Fine,” he decided. “We will proceed with that. Murphy, brief Cragen on what we’re liable to tell the Chinese authorities. Brief me on the outcome of that teleconference immediately upon conclusion.”

He trailed his finger down the paper, and then looked up. “I believe that’s the end of this morning’s briefing. Gentlemen – and Rita, I appreciate you accommodating me in this early hour.”

As everyone started to gather their documents, filing out of the office in an orderly manner, Olivia approached Barba. “Sir, it’s time. We have to leave now.”

He nodded, reaching for his suit jacket.

“Barba, are you _really_ going to Bronx?”

They both looked up, surprised to see Vice President still online, her brow furrowed. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Calhoun, I really do not need another lecture. Does no one in this office trust that I know what I’m doing?” Barba said, his tone exasperated.

The Vice President held up her hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “Fine, I’ll shut up. But please, be careful.”

He smiled wryly. “Don’t worry, Rita. As usual, I will travel with a bevy of armed personnel. I’ll be fine.”

Calhoun refrained herself from retorting that the “bevy of armed personnel” were present as always a fortnight ago, when he was nearly shot. This was hardly the time to remind him  that.

* * *

Olivia ushered Barba into the presidential car, and checked her watch. “Right on schedule, Mr. President.”

“Good,” he said simply, reaching for a bottle of mineral bottle and taking a healthy swig out of it.

They travelled in silence for a while, Barba resting his head back and closing his eyes momentarily, while Olivia preoccupied herself with her tablet, reviewing the routes, updating notations wherever necessary, making calls to the airport and air control to ascertain the everything was in place.

He looked at her, and was reminded of a different Deputy Director. Eddie did things differently. Eddie preferred paper and pen to some degree, and they often joked about how archaic he could be. But he was an excellent Secret Service agent, and then Deputy Director, and there was absolutely no question about his capabilities.

“Eddie Garcia was my best friend,” he found himself saying suddenly, breaking the silence between them.

Surprised at this sudden reveal of rather private information (even if she was already aware of it), she switched her attention momentarily away from work, and set down her tablet, and looked at him carefully. “Sir?”

“I’ve known him since we were five years old, and trawling around _el barrio_ , creating trouble in the way only clueless children who had no idea of the real world could. And throughout everything, he had been my protector. When I foolishly mouthed off against a gang leader, he was the one that got me out of it.”

Olivia was quiet, just waiting for him to speak, sensing that perhaps the President just needed to talk, and he just needed someone to listen.

And she was right; he had not talk about this to anyone, he had not talked about Eddie, and how much he had lost, on a personal level.

“He was perfectly content in his job as a detective, but when I voiced my ambition to enter politics, he threw himself into training for the Secret Service, because he was that confident that I will be President someday, and he wanted to be right there protecting me. And he was. He was my protector to the very end.”  
  
“To the very end…” he repeated, almost to himself.

She hardly knew how to react. What would be the appropriate reaction to this? If it was anyone else, she would’ve sat closer, pat their shoulders, tell them that it would be okay eventually.

But this was the President.

So she did nothing, and just sat there, listening.

“Tell me, Benson,” he said. “Do you think I’m reckless to make this trip? Foolhardy?” He waved a hand. “Go on, you can be truthful. You are not accountable for any valid opinions you may have. Although…” the corner of his mouth lifted in a slightly sardonic smile. “…I think I may know what you think.”

She flushed a little, remember the forthright manner of her first day, and her subsequent embarrassment after the President’s reprimand.

“Mr. President, in all honesty, I don’t think you’re reckless. Even before knowing what I know now. I believe that you have thought through your decisions before you make them, and I believe that this trip, and this meeting, is truly important to you. It is something that you feel like you have to do. And it is my job to ensure that you complete your trip safely.”

He smirked. “Very diplomatic, Benson. Have you been taking lessons from Cragen on how to ‘handle’ me?” He asked, making air quotation marks.

She shook her head. “Not quite, Sir. Mr. Cragen’s schedule is presently full, plenty of people lining up to take lessons. But I _have_ signed up.”

He laughed, out loud. “Touché, Benson.”

She smiled, looking at him, and he looked straight back at her, into her eyes, his own eyes still crinkling in mirth.

She knew she did not imagine that jolt that went through her when his eyes met hers, and for a briefest moment, she thought she saw something flickered across the President’s face. But it was gone so quickly, that she probably _did_ imagine that.

Switching her attention back to work, she berated herself – not for the first time – about her role, her responsibilities.

Olivia was finding herself to be increasingly comfortable in the presence of President Barba, and in some sense, she didn’t know whether was that a good thing, or a bad thing.

Barba, on his part, wasn’t quite sure why was Olivia Benson the one he chose confide in. But there was _something_ about his new Deputy Director that was drawing him to her – although that certainly wasn’t something he want to think about.

All he needed to know was that he could trust her, and he, in fact, did trust her.

* * *

The blue sedan rolled to a stop just outside a modest house in Jerome Avenue.

At opposite ends of the street, a red Honda parked itself under. A white car stopped by a nearby sandwich bar. The driver and the passenger got out, a couple in their thirties, holding hands and walking into the sandwich bar.

Carisi and Amaro got out of the blue sedan, sauntering to the door of the house. Carisi rang the doorbell, and the door opened.

Inside the car, Olivia kept her hand on her earpiece, as Barba fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt, his face tensed.

“Okay, go,” she murmured, opening the car door. They both got out, and walked rapidly towards the house, making their way into the house.

Once Barba entered the house, an elderly woman approached him, tears in her eyes. “Rafi,” she said, her voice breaking in a sob, her arms held out.

Amaro and Carisi stepped forward immediately, but Barba brushed them aside. “It’s okay,” he said, shooting the agents a glance as they stepped back with an air of reluctance.

“Tiá Sofia,” he said, his voice gentle as he pulled the woman into a hug. “Tiá Sofia, I am so so sorry.”

Olivia, Amaro and Carisi stood guard in the small living room as the woman sobbed on Barba’s shoulder. He patted her back reassuringly, whispering words of comfort in Spanish.

After a while, Sofia pulled back, drying her eyes, still holding Barba’s hands tightly. “Rafi, mi hijo, so good of you to come.”

He led her to the couch, and they both sat down. “I had to come,” he said. “I must, because…” his voice trailed off, and he paused, reining in his emotions. He motioned towards Olivia, and she stepped forward, holding out a box.

Barba took the box, and pressed it into Sofia’s hands. She opened it, and removed the medal nestled in it, gripping it tightly.

“I did not get to mourn Eddie with you,” he said quietly. “I must come, and tell you, that I am so sorry you lost Eddie because…because of me.”

“Is not your fault, Rafi, is not your fault. Eddie did his job, no? He did his job, only I wish he did not die.” Sofia’s eyes well up again, and Barba bit his lip.

“Tiá Sofia, I will take care of you, I promised Eddie. Would you consider moving to Washington? Mamí will…”

“No, Rafi.” Sofia shook her head. “I will stay here. This house, Eddie grew up here. My Eddie is here in this house, and I cannot leave it.”

He nodded with resignation; he had been expecting this response. But he would still ensure Eddie’s mother was properly cared for, that was the least he could do.

“Mr. President,” Olivia said softly. “We have to go.”

He acknowledged that with a curt nod, and stood up, enveloping Eddie’s mother in one last hug. They parted, and she patted him on his cheek, a smile breaking through her tears.

“Look at you, Rafi. President. You are a good President. Everyone says so. We all are so proud. So very proud.”

“Sir,” Olivia said again, resting her hand on his elbow.

“I’m coming,” he said, and leaned down, kissing Eddie’s mother on the cheek. Reluctantly, he turned to leave, Olivia beside him.

* * *

The door swung shut behind them, as Barba stood at the doorstep, exhaling shakily. Amaro and Carisi walked ahead rapidly, securing the premises and the route to the nondescript blue car.

“Sir, are you all right?” Olivia asked quietly.

He was still shaken from the few precious moments he had with his best friend’s mother, and for the fact he was able to properly mourn Eddie with someone who had loved him, however brief it had been.

But he cannot allow emotions to overwhelm him for any longer than it was necessary. So he held his head up and steeled himself.

“I’m fine,” he said curtly. “Shall we go?”

They walked towards the car – and Olivia was just opening the door to usher Barba in, when a single gunshot rang out.

“Into the car, Sir!” Olivia shouted, quelling the panic rising in her throat as she pushed Barba into the car, shielding his body with her own.

Almost immediately, the quiet street burst into activity as Secret Service agents streamed in from both ends of the street, guns drawn.

As she was about to slam the car door shut, another shot rang out, and Olivia felt a sharp stab of pain at her right arm.

 _Shit_ , she thought, but there was no time to pause and think. Ignoring the pain, she slammed the door and activated the high security locks. The blue sedan may have looked ordinary, but of course it was equipped with all security measures found in the presidential state car.

“Drive!” She ordered Amaro in a terse tone and immediately he threw the car into gear.

“Benson, you’re hurt!”

Wincing, she looked down to see blood on her upper arm, streaming and staining her cream blouse crimson. Without another word, Barba undid his tie, pulling it off and then tying it around her upper arm, using it as a tourniquet.

She tried to focus through the pain. “Amaro, take route B2 to the airport. The plane is ready, the Preisdent will leave _immediately_. Carisi, touch base with Secret Service at Jerome Avenue. Secure the premises, get FBI on site, now. I want a full team.”

She turned to Barba. “Sir, I’m escorting you back to Washington. Rest assure that there will be a full report, we will ensure that…”

“Benson, you’ve just been _shot_. And you need medical attention.”

“Sir, all of that is irrelevant. We need to get you to safety, _now_.”

He opened his mouth, as if to say more, but immediately recognising the urgency of the situation, he stopped himself. He had just been shot at – again – and the repercussions to this would undoubtedly be a hell of a shitstorm to deal with.

* * *

Barba sat in his office, his back ramrod straight as his staff assembled around him. Tucker, particularly, had a huge scowl to his face, and he had a feeling the man was just about to deliver a lecture on “I told you so”.

Rollins was the first to speak. “Sir, we will need a statement.”

“Stating the obvious as usual, Rollins,” he said dryly. “I will write the statement myself, and then you can spin whatever PR spin that needs to be put to it.”

“Mr. President, let me remind you that I warned you against this.” Tucker said.

Barba sighed. “So remind me.”

“I hold Deputy Director Benson personally responsible for this gross breach of security, and I assure you, Sir, that she will…”

“I am still waiting for the report from Benson. The full assessment of the breach has not been completed, Director, and I am not at ease to be pointing fingers and pinning blame without that,” Barba interrupted.

“We need a complete overhaul of the security procedures in place – we need to vet everything and revisit all routes and communication. President Barba, in the meantime, I would suggest that you rearrange your schedule to cancel overseas engagements and meetings, at least for the short term,” said Tutuola.

Barba ran a hand through his hair. “I see your point, Tutuola, but there are a few engagements that I cannot miss, and you all know it.”

“He’s right,” Calhoun spoke up. “There are a few meetings that I could take, but for some, the President himself is needed. How much time does Secret Service need to set the new security procedures in place?”

Tucker pursed his lips. “Twenty-four hours, at minimum.”

“Done,” Calhoun said affirmatively. “Tutuola, try to push back the visit to Singapore by two days. Explain the circumstances, I should think Prime Minister Lee would be accommodating. I will stand in for the United Nations meeting at New York headquarters.”

Barba was about to answer when a knock sounded, and in walk Olivia Benson, her arm in a sling, her head held up high.

“Deputy Director Benson, so glad you could join us. I trust you have an explanation for the debacle you let happened under your watch,” Tucker said, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Director Tucker, President Barba,” she began. “First of all, I apologise for what happened in New York. I assure you, that we followed every single security protocol. For the moment, we cannot ascertain the breach. But I take full responsibility for opting for a smaller team when perhaps we should have used the full security team, given what happened a mere three weeks ago. This was a grave error in my judgement.”

She took a deep breath. “Therefore, I offer my resignation as Deputy Director. But I will stay on in the investigation, if you allow me to do so, for I want to complete my duty.”

Tucker grimaced. “Well, I am glad to see at least you are…”

“Apology accepted, resignation not accepted, Benson.” Barba cut in.

The Director of the Secret Service whipped around to face him, his mouth dropping opened in shock. Tutuola and Rollins both looked taken aback, and even the stoic faced Amaro and Carisi looked surprised.

Vice President Calhoun was the only one looking unperturbed.

“I’m not in the habit of dismissing anyone when there is no surety as to what truly happened. You _will_ find out what went wrong, Benson, and report to me in full, and you _will_ stay on as Deputy Director. And you, and your team, will set the new security procedures in place, in time for my flight to Singapore in seventy-two hours.”

“Sir! This is…this…” Tucker sputtered.

“Director, I trust the President is liable to make decisions concerning this? That he has the discretion to ascertain which member of the Secret Service is to stay or go?” Barba said coolly.

Tucker had no reply to that, and could only abide by President Barba’s decision.

* * *

It was late evening when they finally dealt with the fallout of the incident the day before. Press statements had been issued, downplaying the situation as much as they could. It helped that the only injury was a bullet grazing the arm of a Secret Service officer – they had managed to conceal the fact that it was the Deputy Director who was shot, while attempting to protect the President. With that, it was presented such as that the President wasn’t even near the vicinity of direct gunfire.

Security protocols were reinstated and security measures were checked three times, four times, and Tucker was finally satisfied with exhaustive checks.

Barba leaned back in his chair and watched as everyone left the office, gradually only leaving behind Calhoun and Olivia.

Olivia stood to one side, waiting for the Vice President to take her leave, and then she was to escort Barba into the living quarters of the White House.

Calhoun collected all her documents and clipped them together, slipping them into her leather binder. She looked towards Barba, an eyebrow raised.

He looked back at her and rolled his eyes. “Rita, don’t even start.”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t about to say anything.”

“It was written all over your face,” he retorted. “For fuck’s sake, I know the brevity of the situation, all right? I _know_.”

“Rafael, you know I’ve always trusted you,” Calhoun said. “But there are times when certain matters take precedent over other matters. You make difficult decisions every day. And…”

“I know, and I understand. And now, if you don’t mind, I need some time alone.”

A look passed between them, and then she was gone, her heels clicking sharply, flanked by two Secret Service agents.

“Benson. Close the door, and come take a seat,” Barba said, his tone clearly portraying that that was not a request.

Olivia shut the door with her good arm, and sat down across from him.

“How’s your arm?” He asked.

“It was merely a bullet graze, Sir. I’ve seen worse injuries in my lifetime.”

He exhaled. “In the midst of all that shouting and blaming that took place in the last twenty-four hours…I didn’t get a chance to thank you for saving my life.”

She flushed. “Mr. President, that was my job. And if I had been more stringent, more careful, I shouldn’t have had the opportunity to save your life.”

“Benson, what had happened had happened. Don’t dwell on it, that’s useless. Just ensure that under no circumstances that my life will ever need saving again. From you, or from anyone else.”

He smiled then, letting her know that for some reason, he truly did not blame her for the near catastrophe, and for some inexplicable reason, he still trusted her with his safety.

“Thank you for your trust in me, Sir,” she murmured.

Barba stood up, and turned to retrieve his scotch from his shelf, and two glasses. “Surely you can join me for a glass? Call it a cause for celebration, for the close call we both had.”

She hesitated, and then accepted the glass he handed her. They clinked glasses, and drank.

As Olivia placed the glass back on the President’s desk, their eyes met, and he held her gaze in his, his eyes a clear olive green.

Whether she wanted to admit it or not, something seemed to have shifted between them – only that she didn’t think it was something she could possibly be dwelling upon.

Because the mere idea that there could be _something_ , well, that was surely ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I am taking a lot of liberties with procedures, protocols and what not and I have a feeling I’m majorly messing things up…but again I claim artistic license. ^.^


	3. 03: we trace the steps we take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chaptered fic; _only a heartbeat away 03 (we trace the steps we take)_  
>  pairing: rafael barba/olivia benson  
> word count: 4216 words  
> note: a bodyguard-ish AU inspired by a tweet liked by Mariska and the #BarbaForPrez hashtag. Title of fic and chapter titles taken/adapted from Vixens’ Only a Heartbeat Away.

Olivia checked her watch. Three minutes to eight o’clock.

She caught sight of her own reflection in the huge brass mirror hanging on the wall opposite the door to the President’s suite, and almost unconsciously, she raised her hand to pat down her hair. She paused in the action of combing her fingers through her bangs, suddenly finding it funny (and strange) that she was rearranging her _hair_ , minutes before she was to knock on the President’s door.

Just as she was patting her bangs into the place, the door opened, and Barba stepped out, suit jacket over one arm, his tie was neatly knotted into place. He raised an eyebrow, and immediately embarrassed, Olivia blushed and lowered her hand, turning to face him.

“Good morning, Mr. President.”

“Morning, Benson. Let me be the first to assure you that your hair looks great. Almost as perfect as mine,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a slight smirk.

A laugh bubbled out of her as she fell into step behind the President.  Barba already had the Daily Brief in hand, and was studying it as he walked.

“How’s the arm?” He asked, without really taking his eyes off the brief.

Olivia touched her upper arm, where a bandage still covered the stitched wound, beneath her blouse and her jacket. It had been a week since the shooting incident, and her mobility was almost fully back to normal.

Barba never failed to ask about her arm every single morning.

“Almost completely recovered, Sir,” she answered.

“Glad to hear that,” he said casually, before taking on a more serious tone. “I’m expecting an update to your investigation at the morning briefing later. Please tell me you have something for me.”

“We do,” she affirmed. “Director Tucker and Director Murphy, as well as myself, will present the findings of our investigation thus far.”

“Good,” he nodded as they reached the Oval Office. Olivia pushed the doors open, and they stepped in to face the presidential staff, to begin the day’s proceedings.

“First matter on the agenda,” Barba began. “North Korea had launched another so-called nuclear test yesterday. I’ll respond appropriately to that during my press briefing today, which I believe is scheduled for…?”

“Twelve hundred hours, Sir,” Rollins answered.

“Cragen, what was the outcome of your discussion with China regarding this?”

“China is keen for North Korea to return to the table for the six-party talks, but the Foreign Minister of China isn’t make much progress with Pyongyang,” Cragen reported.

Barba pursed his lips, tapping his teeth with the pen he was holding, and then came to a decision. “Schedule a teleconference call with President Xi. I want to speak to him personally on this. We cannot have North Korea firing missiles at free will, and calling that nuclear testing.”

“Copy that, Mr. President,” Tutuola affirmed, tapping rapidly on his tablet.

“And whilst we’re on the issue of China – Cragen and Murphy, what is the update on Xinjiang?” Barba asked briskly, putting down the Daily Brief and picking up a document on his desk.

“President Barba, the situation right now is such that…” Murphy began explaining, tapping on the laptop to bring out a series of charts and maps.

Olivia observed from where she was sitting, watching the briefing unfolding like clockwork, as usual. Barba was concise, to the point, about what he wanted, what he needed to do, and what needed to be done by each and every person in the presidential team to ensure running of the country. He was firm, and could be brusque at times, but he listened to everything his team told him, and took everyone’s words into consideration, even if he did not agree with them.

She had been part of this team for close to two months now, but yet the sight of Barba in the Oval Office – be it sitting, standing, pacing, walking, giving directions, engaging in discussions – still sent a sense of awe running through her.

Finally, Barba turned to her and Tucker, an expectant look on his face. “The final issue of concern this morning – I believe there are updates, Director?”

Tucker cleared his throat, standing up, and motioned to Murphy. The other man gave a slight nod, and then pulled up a series of images, projecting them clearly so everyone in the office could see.

“Sir, CIA, FBI and the Secret Service had run exhaustive checks and analysis through all security and street cameras present within a ten-mile radius of both sites. I regret to say that there is nothing one-hundred percent conclusive, but…”

Murphy clicked rapidly, zooming in on a few separate images – that of a heavyset man, in dark glasses, his head covered by a hat.

“He was seen near the Washington State Building, just shortly before Deputy Director Garcia was shot, and shortly after, heading away from the site of the shooting. Coincidentally…” Tucker pointed to another image. “…he was seen in Bronx, heading towards Jerome Avenue about fifteen minutes before the arrival of the President.”

“Director Tucker was right when he said nothing was conclusive, but this man a certainly a person of interest,” Murphy interjected. “And we managed to obtain an image of him when he momentarily took off his glasses, so we have an identity.”

The CIA Director focused on one particular image, enlarging it and sharpening it so the picture was at its clearest for Barba and his presidential team. Olivia immediately recognised the man on the screen, and she was sure that it applied to majority of the people in the room.

“We’ve identified him as…”

“Alex Muñoz.” The President interrupted. “Mayoral candidate for New York City, eight years ago.”

“You’re absolutely correct, Sir,” Murphy nodded. He and Tucker exchanged looks, as Barba sighed.

“I trust everyone in this office knows the story and I do not have to explain myself?”

Olivia certainly did. Ex- State Senator Alex Muñoz was well on his way to becoming the mayor of New York when he was charged with soliciting minors for sexual liaisons. The NYPD Special Victims Unit found corresponding evidence to arrest him.

The District Attorney who put the wheels of prosecution into motion was the same man currently sitting behind the President’s desk in the Oval Office.

Muñoz eventually worked out a plea bargain, but his political career was effectively over.  His wife filed for divorce and sole custody of the children, and Muñoz himself vanished off the radar. In politics, a week is a long time, and eventually the attention was turned away, and he was forgotten.

Until now.

Barba ran a hand through his hair. “Well, objectively speaking, he definitely has a sound reason to want to shoot me,” he said dryly.

“Sir…” Cragen shook his head. 

“ _Fine_ , I’ll stop making wisecracks if it displeases everyone so. Tucker, Murphy, I expect a more conclusive outcome in your next brief.”

Murphy nodded. “For the moment, Muñoz has been placed under 24-hour surveillance, and the surveillance team will report to Benson.”

“So it shall be that way for now.” Barba stood up, indicating that the morning briefing was over.

* * *

Barba stared at the scribbled notes on the paper in his hands, but he was definitely not focusing. He was in one of the holding rooms in the Capitol Building, where he was expected to address a group of visiting foreign diplomats in half an hour’s time.

He stood up, walking to the corner of the room where the coffee machine was. He jabbed at a button on the machine, and waited for his coffee to be prepared.

Olivia had been watching him since they left the White House, to their arrival at the Capitol Building. “Sir? Are you all right?”

He grabbed his coffee and took a sip, feeling the caffeine working its temporary magic.

“As well as I could feel, Benson, knowing that my childhood friend may be the one who’s trying to kill me.”

She was taken aback by his revelation, and he sensed her surprise.

Barba smiled wryly. “We grew up together, him, Eddie and me. That’s one aspect that had unexpectedly escaped the overwhelming press coverage at the time. I know my name has always been linked to the case, but the truth was, I recused myself because of my friendship with Alex. But as the DA, I had to be somewhat involved in the technicalities – but not the specifics - of the case,” he said, “and because of that, it seemed that I played a bigger role than what it was actually.”

He exhaled heavily, and downed the rest of the coffee. “Not the level of my involvement actually mattered to Alex. He viewed me as a traitor, for not pulling the appropriate strings to help him. But of course, I couldn’t.”

“Sir, you did the right thing,” she said firmly.

“I hardly need reaffirmation for that, but thank you, Benson,” he said. He put down his coffee cup, and paused for a while, seemingly considering, and then he pressed the button that would make him another cup.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” He asked suddenly. “We have another twenty-five minutes before I am expected to move, and since I am baring my soul, you might want to sit down and get comfortable.”

“I can make my own coffee, Sir,” she offered, moving towards the coffee machine but Barba waved his hand, motioning her towards the chairs in the middle of the room.

“Sit,” he said, reaching for another cup and setting the coffee machine in motion.

Olivia took her seat, as Barba sat down across from her, putting the coffee cup in front of her.”Drink. And smile, maybe. You don’t have to look so serious all the time.”

She gave a little snort of laughter, and he shot her a glance.

“I’m sorry, Sir, it just seems very surreal that the President of the United States just served me a cup of coffee,” she explained, mouth still curved in a smile. Surreal was an understatement for this, this whole situation of her and the President, sitting together and him talking to her as if she was…a friend.

He smiled back at her, and not for the first time, she wondered why this man was still single and unmarried. He had defied the odds, becoming only the third President after James Buchanan and Grover Cleveland to enter the White House without a partner. America usually likes their Presidents with wholesome, happy families, but Barba had charisma. He had drive. He had passion, and as cliché as that might sound, he won over the hearts of the American people.

There had not been even the slightest hint of a scandal surrounding his personal life. To borrow another cliché, he was simply married to being President.

“My story may be immensely boring to you, Benson, just ensuring that you would not fall asleep.” He took a sip of his coffee and leaned back in his chair.

Barba was surprising himself. He was not used to talking about his past, in fact, he had never did, in the past year since he entered the office. He had a preconceived notion of how the President should act, especially around his staff, and that did not involve talking about his personal past, which was irrelevant to the running of country.

But there was something about the open way his Secret Service Deputy Director was looking at him, which made him want to open up, to talk. Maybe he was too overwhelmed, finding out that one of his oldest friends (or ex-friend, rather) may be trying to kill him. Or maybe because he kept himself closed-off for far too long.

“We were very close growing up,” he began. “Living in the Bronx, you have to stick close together or you’ll find yourself ending up in situations you would never want to be in. The three of us, we worked. The Three Muskeeters of Jerome Avenue. Alex had the heart, Eddie had the muscle, and me…of course, I had the brains, and the mouth,” he grinned, and Olivia found herself grinning back at him.  

“But as we grew up, life just took us in different ways. We remained close to Eddie individually, but me and Alex – we just drifted apart. Maybe it was our political ambitions clashing, maybe it was difference of opinions, maybe it was Ye…” here, Barba paused suddenly. He looked at Olivia, and then seemed to recollect himself before continuing. “Anyway, it was just as it was. Alex and I barely kept in touch, until the whole scandal erupted.”

“Ethically and professionally, I couldn’t do _anything_ , that much was clear. Eddie didn’t believe that Alex could do that, and we were at odds until the evidence was right there in front of our faces. Even so, Eddie had wanted me to help Alex, and actually arranged a meeting between three of us.”

Barba looked down at his hands. “The meeting was a disaster. Alex accused me of trying to ruin him for my own political ambitions,” he winced. “Needless to say, nothing came out of, and the rest, as they say it, was history.”

“So there you have it, Benson, the whole sordid story of why Alex Muñoz would want me dead,” he said sardonically.

Olivia drank her coffee, considering. “Sir, you had to do what was right, you had to make the difficult decisions. Alex Muñoz was guilty. It wasn’t as if that you refused to help an innocent man.”

“I know all of that, of course, but it was…so hard. I felt angry. I felt frustrated. I felt guilty, even, as if Alex’s accusations actually carried some weight. It was certainly not the most pleasing of times.”

She was just the teeniest bit (okay, a lot more than that) startled, if she could be honest. The man sitting across from her was very different from the cool, collected President that she had come to know and appreciate. She had been privy to a few personal moments, small glimpses of Rafael Barba the person instead of Rafael Barba the President, but this was on a whole different level completely.

Barba’s emotions were etched openly on his face as he looked at her, hands fiddling with his empty coffee cup. This was the first time she had seen anything akin to vulnerability on his face.

“Mr. President,” she said quietly, leaning forward. “I couldn’t say I understand exactly how you felt, because I don’t – but I had been in a situation when a trusted friend, a partner, turned his back on me. Of course, he probably isn’t trying to kill me, this will be where our situation differs…”

Barba gave a short bark of laughter at that, shaking his head. “I certainly hope not. It would be rather hilarious, but also rather tragic, if the President _and_ the head of his security detail both have specific targets on their back.”

“The thing is,” she continued, her eyes steady on his. “We can only do what we can. I can only react in the way I know how to react, I cannot control how _he_ reacted, or what he did. Sir, in your case, _you did the right thing_. I could not emphasise that enough. With the fallout the way it was now, you could never imagine this to be the outcome.”

He heaved a sigh. “I know you’re right, Benson. But to be frank, it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.

“I know that, Sir,” she said gently, and a look of understanding passed between them.

There was still so much she didn’t know about him, but yet she knew that a piece of the President’s façade had been taken off. She felt that she _knew_ him better now, and it was a very strange sort of feeling to have.

Barba, on his part, was feeling just the slightest bit unsettled.  He didn’t intend to tell her so much, but yet he did. He wasn’t in denial; he knew that on some level, he was physically attracted to her. But physical attraction had never carried much weight with him. There’s something about Olivia Benson, he thought. There’s just _something_ about her. 

A glance at her watch told her that their talk would be coming to an end, and a part of her couldn’t help wishing that it wasn’t so. His gaze followed hers, and then he cleared his throat, standing up, buttoning his suit jacket.

“I believe it’s time for my address?”

Just like that, the moment was over.

She nodded, standing up as well, touching her earpiece. “The President is on the move. Stand by.”

As they moved towards the door, Barba cleared his throat. “Benson…thank you.”

“Anytime, Mr. President.” She kind of hated that they had descended back to the usual level of formality, but that was just the way it had to be.

“Actually…” he gave a small shrug. “I mean…you can call me by my first name,” he said, in a rush. “You know, when we find ourselves in the situation where you need to hear me whinge again.”

She stopped, turning to him, her eyes wide with surprise. “President Barba…but that’s…I mean…” His eyes told her to just do as he said, and to stop babbling.

“All right, Sir.”

“Rafael.” Barba corrected with a small smirk.

She smiled at him. “And it’s Olivia.”

* * *

Olivia stood to one side, near the end of the stage as the President took to the podium, to address the delegate of foreign diplomats. Resting his hands on the podium, he began his speech.

As usual, he didn’t need a speech, or a teleprompter. His scribbled notes were with her, tucked into the leather binder she was rarely seen without.

Watching him speak, she thought it was so easy to how he had won the American people over. He exuded charisma, confidence and his words were truly uplifting and had the ability to really inspire. He had righted the ship of the States’ faltering economy once he came into office, and repaired fractured foreign relations.

To put it plainly, Barba was the President that America needed right now.

Barba finished his address to thunderous applause, and he stepped down from the podium, heading forward to shake the hands of the delegates.

Before he did so, she saw him turning back towards the wings of the stage. His eyes rested on hers, and he gave her a small, imperceptible smile, before turning his attention back to his audience.

* * *

“Mr. President, your mother has arrived,” Tutuola informed, the moment Barba stepped into the White House.

“My mother?” He echoed, taking off his coat.

“Yes, she will be your dinner appointment this evening, Sir.”

“One of the privileges being President,” Barba said flippantly. “That a dinner with my _mother_ is referred to as an appointment.”

He hurried into the living room in his living quarters, Olivia following close behind. Her shift was about to be over soon, and then she had to hand over to Agent Carisi and Agent Amaro.

They entered the living room together, and saw an older woman sitting on the couch, sipping a cup of tea. She looked up, and Olivia immediately saw the resemblance.

“Mamì ,” he said, quickening his step, approaching his mother and folding her into a hug.

“Rafi, mijo,” she said, pulling back and patting his cheek. “You have lost weight again. Are they not feeding you in the White House?”

He laughed, pressing a kiss to his mother’s cheek. “You say the same thing every time, Mamì .”

“I cannot help but worry about you, no? Especially with all that has happened lately…” She paused, clearly trying to rein in her emotions.

“I’m _fine_ , I have armed men and women following me around every minute of the day. I’m as safe as I can be. In fact, I worry about you. I wish you’ll move into the White House.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “I am happy where I am, Rafi, with the community…this house, it is lovely but you know I will be so alone if I stay here.”

He knew that, of course, which was why he didn’t push as hard as he would’ve wanted.

Olivia stood to one side, feeling a little awkward that she was party to a rather private conversation between the President and his mother, but there wasn’t much she could do about it.

Barba glanced towards her direction, and motioned to her. “Mamì, I’ll like you to meet Olivia Benson, new Deputy Director of the Secret Service, and head of my security detail. Deputy Director Benson, my mother, Lucia Barba.”

“Ma’am, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Olivia said respectfully, holding out her hand.

Lucia took it, her smile warm. “Deputy Director Benson, so you’re the person replacing Eddie, bless his soul. Thank you for protecting my son.”

“It’s an honor to have the duty,” she responded.

One of White House executive housekeepers appeared then. “Mr. President, Mrs. Barba, dinner is ready.”

Lucia hooked her arm through her son’s as they headed towards the dining room, Olivia following close behind. She tapped something on her phone, and then touched her earpiece. They reached the dining quarters, with Carisi and Amaro already in place.

“Sir, I’ll take my leave now. As usual, I will be available should you need me, and I will see you eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“Deputy Director Benson, won’t you join us for dinner?” Lucia asked.

She gave a start, looking surprised. This clearly wasn’t part of the usual presidential modus operandi. It could not be that Lucia Barba was unaware protocol, rather, she was probably deliberately ignoring protocol.

Barba’s exasperated eye roll told her as much, but unexpectedly, he did not voice any objection, instead choosing to pull out his phone as his mother waited expectantly for Olivia to respond.

“Thank you for the invitation, ma’am, but I am afraid I must decline, for I still have some important matters to take care of.”

“Understandably,” said Lucia, smiling slightly. “You work your people very hard, Rafi.”

He threw his mother a sideways glance as he locked his phone and slipped it into pocket.

“Well then. Good night, Oli…Benson,” he quickly corrected himself.

“Good night, Mr. President, ma’am.”

* * *

“She’s not married,” said Lucia, her voice matter-of-fact as she speared an asparagus with her fork.

“I’m sorry, Mamì, but what?”

“Olivia Benson. She’s not married. I did not see a wedding ring.”

Barba cut a piece of beef and looked at his mother warily. “And that is relevant because?”

Of course he knew that she wasn’t married; he had seen her marital status when skimming through her personnel file on the day he met her. He usually did not go through the personal particulars of his presidential team, preferring to give them that degree of privacy, and he did not go through Olivia’s file thoroughly either.

He just so _happened_ to see that she wasn’t married.

She raised an eyebrow at him, and Barba snorted. “Mamì, please.”

“Rafi, you know I am so proud of you. Of course I am. But every mother wants to see their son married, with a wife and children…All I want is for you have a fulfilled life.”

He reached across the table to take his mother’s hand. “I _am_ fulfilled. I am exactly where I want to be, Mamì.”

Lucia squeezed his hand, and immediately switched the topic to talk about the family, her sisters and Barba’s cousins. She knew when to leave it, she always did.

But she had seen a look in her son’s eyes when he bade Olivia Benson goodbye earlier on – it was very subtle, but it was there.

She had not seen that look in years.

* * *

“I’m home!” Olivia called out, shutting the door.

“Right on time!” Lucy called out from the kitchen. “We made dinner – tuna pasta.”

“Smells wonderful,” she said, walking into the kitchen.

“Mummmy!”

“Hello, little man,” she said, bending down and scooping up the toddler sitting at the kitchen island. “Have you been a good boy for Lucy today?”

“Perfect angel as usual. How was your day, Liv?”

“Oh, the usual,” she said evasively.

Lucy nodded, not pressing any further. Whilst she did not know the exact nature of Olivia’s job, she did know that it involved the President, therefore it was classified to an extent.

As she sat down next to her son, Olivia reflected on the day. Something had irrevocably changed between her and President Barba – to put it mildly, seeing that she had been given permission to call the President by his first name.

She felt her face grew warm as she recalled the moment he asked her to call him by his given name, and instantly, she berated herself.

It wouldn’t do for her to behave like a high-schooler with an adolescent crush. The stakes were too high, and the situation was too impossible.

Her life was actually already complicated enough, and right now, there should only be two priorities in her life.

One, to perform her duty as part of the Secret Service, and to protect the President.

Two, to put her whole heart and soul into raising her adopted son, Noah Porter Benson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Borrowed (or stole) things from the canon to fit into the AU. I apologise if the build-up between Barba and Liv seems a little slow but I am trying to be as realistic as I can, to establish the friendship before the relationship. It’s a slow burn kind of thing, I guess, but I hope to intensify things a little in the next couple of chapters. 
> 
> One thing I need help with: anyone has any ideas for Barba’s Presidential codename? I came up with Simba or Lionheart and I just felt…lame. Hahahhaha. Suggestions are welcomed!


	4. 04: and we're face to face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chaptered fic; only a heartbeat away 04 (and we’re face to face)  
> fandom: law & order svu  
> pairing: rafael barba/olivia benson  
> word count: 4512 words  
> note: a bodyguard-ish AU inspired by a tweet liked by Mariska and the #BarbaForPrez hashtag. Title of fic and chapter titles taken/adapted from Vixens’ Only a Heartbeat Away.

It was a warm Saturday morning, and Barba was enjoying the resumption of his morning runs. His usual weekend jogs at the National Mall was halted on Tucker’s orders after the second assassination attempt. It was with reluctance that he had agreed; knowing that he had to adhere to it. He could refuse to cut down on official engagements and official public appearances, but he definitely had to compromise on other matters to minimise security risks.

It had been several weeks since then, and things had been relatively…calm, for the lack of a better word. Intelligence agencies kept a firm twenty-four surveillance on Alex Muñoz but there had been nothing, no movement.

Muñoz, having resurfaced in New York City, seemingly led an isolated lifestyle, not leaving his apartment complex on most days. The FBI followed up on the whereabouts of his ex-wife and three daughters, but did not find anything out of ordinary. His estranged family led a quiet life of relative anonymity.

Barba then requested for his morning runs to be reinserted into his schedule, and Tucker had put up a fight about it, still not convinced that the President should be jogging in the public sphere, but he had insisted.

He needed a sense of normality and normalcy to keep himself in check, and his morning jogs were one of the few ways he had. Tucker eventually relented, but the President’s jogging was scheduled ahead to six o’clock in the morning, and the Secret Service had to revise Barba’s old running route to fit the security concerns.

No fewer than a dozen Secret Service agents ran with the President, all keeping within distance from various different angles. Each and every one of them had their gun holsters strapped in somewhere within their persons, complete with the usual radio and headset.

Olivia was the only one pacing alongside Barba, at his insistence. Dressed in jogging sweats, her hair was twisted up in a tight ponytail to keep her hair out of face as she ran. Her gun, in its holster, was secured to her thigh.

Barba stopped and leaned down, huffing a little, trying to catch his breath, as he briskly wiped the sweat from his brow. As he straightened himself, he saw Olivia just a few paces in front of him, jogging in place as she waited for him to catch up.

With a few strides, he caught up to her quickly, shooting her a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Outpaced by a woman,” he deadpanned. “This just goes to show that being fit and being President do not necessarily go hand-in-hand.”

She turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised. “Sir, is that a sexist comment I hear?”

“I’m merely stating a fact. You _are_ a woman, and you’re out-running me,” he pointed out, as they resumed running, pacing side-by-side along the dirt trail. “Not to mention that you’re also carrying some _additional_ weight.”

“Sir, if I may, you’re liable to lose my vote should you stand for re-election,” she warned.

“I meant your extra equipment, Agent,” he said, nodding towards the barely perceptible bulge of her gun holster. “What do you think I was commenting on?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting in a slight smirk.

Olivia laughed, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes vigilant on their surroundings. She turned her wrist slightly to look at her watch, and caught the eye of Carisi ten paces behind them. Carisi gestured, and she understood.

“Seven more minutes, Mr. President,” she reminded him.

He sighed theatrically. “Seven more minutes of fresh air and sunshine. Fine, let’s make the most of it. Now, where were we?”

“Favouite author,” she said, readjusting her sweatband around her wrist.

Somewhere along the way, Barba and Olivia had fallen into a routine of asking and answering random trivia questions regarding each other – earliest childhood memory, favourite food, favourite sports – the like. Anything that came into their minds.  

For Barba, it was forty-seven minutes in a day where he did not need to answer to anyone, did not need to run the country, did not need to make decisions that could change lives of millions.  

“Kurt Vonnegut.”

“Vonnegut? Really?”

“Haven’t you read Slaughterhouse-Five? Brilliant book.”

She shrugged, dabbing at the sweat at her brow with the towel around her neck. “I haven’t really read much Vonnegut, to be honest.”

Barba made a clicking sound of slight disapproval with his tongue. “ _Your_ favourite author, then?”

“Stephanie Meyer.”

He stopped short for a moment. “Olivia. Please tell me you’re not serious. I might actually lose faith in you as my head of security.”

He had been using her first name with increasing regularity, although she hadn’t been afforded the same opportunity. It was fine for the President to address her by her first name, of course, but the same cannot be said of the reverse situation. She had to be careful about maintaining protocol at all times.

If she could be honest, however, she still hadn’t gotten used to the fact that he had requested for her to call him Rafael, should an informal occasion arise again between them. Their morning jogs were pretty informal, of course, but she didn’t deem it appropriate to be using Barba’s first name when they were surrounded by Secret Service agents.

She laughed. “Of course I’m joking. Vampires are so passé. I like the classics, actually. Austen, the Bronte sisters, et cetera.”

He nodded approvingly. “A much better answer, indeed.”

“Your turn to ask the next question, Sir.” She quickened her step as Barba increased his speed.

“Favourite President of the United States,” he said, smirking.

“I plead the fifth,” she said immediately, grinning.

“Oh come on, Benson. I promise you, I won’t fire you if your answer turned out to be someone else other than me.”

She was about to answer him in jest when her earpiece crackled into life. She stopped running, and the President slowed down beside her.

“ _Deputy Director Benson. Surveillance update on Alex Muñoz. He is presently heading towards the airport. We have verified that he purchased a one-way ticket to Washington, D.C. We are sending a complete surveillance report. Please wait to receive it in the next ten minutes._ ”

Her face tensed immediately. “Copy that, Agent.”

_“Over and out.”_

She turned to Barba, and said briskly. “Sir, we have to leave, now.”

He did not ask any questions; he simply nodded as they both picked up their pace rapidly, heading towards the waiting presidential state car some distance away.

As she opened the car door and ushered Barba in, her phone rang. Swiping her phone to receive the call, she pressed it to her ear as she entered after the President.

“Benson.”

“It’s Tucker.” The voice on the other end was brusque and sharp. “I trust you have received the latest surveillance report with regards to Muñoz. Secure Abogado and return to the White House immediately.”

“Abogado is secured. En route to the White House, estimated time of arrival in another twelve minutes.”

“Convene at the Roosevelt Room in twenty.”

Olivia ended the call, slipping her phone back into the pocket of her hooded jacket, her mind already whirling, thinking about the potential gravity of the situation. Barba looked at her steadily.

“Olivia, is this about Muñoz?”

She retrieved her tablet from her bag at the floor of the car, powering it up and tapping rapidly, entering her credentials to enable the download of all necessary documents. “Unfortunately it is. It could be nothing, of course, but we need to ascertain everything.”

“Perfect,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“Don’t worry, Sir, everything is under control,” she said, her voice more confident than what she actually felt.

He gave her a slight nod and leaned back, closing his eyes momentarily. He had roughly twelve minutes of relative peace, and he intended to empty his mind, and savour it.

* * *

Barba strode into the Roosevelt Room authoritatively, with Olivia and the rest of the Secret Service agents following close behind.

Tucker and Murphy stood up to receive him. Vice President Calhoun remained seated, an expression of concentration on her face as she swiped through the tablet she was holding.

The Secret Service Director eyed Barba’s running clothes. “Mr. President, would you like to…freshen up? We could wait for…” he began, and stopped short as Barba shot him a cold glare.

“I hardly think my attire is the pressing matter at the moment, Director. Let’s skip the nonsense and get straight into it. Brief me.”

Tucker colored slightly, and then regained his composure, clearing his throat.

The first part of the brief was short and concise, reiterating what Barba had already known. The scrutiny of Muñoz for the last few weeks had amounted to nothing, as there had been no conclusive indication that he was a threat in any way. The intelligence units were, of course, running concurrent investigations on the two assassination attempts, looking into other angles, but Muñoz, given the personal history he had with the President, and the fact that he was sighted at both sites, remained one of their stronger leads.

As of thirty minutes past eight on a Saturday morning, Muñoz was on his way to the capital, reasons of which were unknown.

“Surveillance and intelligence are all in place, Sir. We will continue tracking every single movement of Muñoz’s when he lands in Washington.”

Barba gave a crisp nod, his brow furrowed as he studied the report that Murphy had handed him. “At present time, I supposed this is the best that could be done. Keep me abreast of any updates you may have.”

“Certainly, Mr. President.”

“As you are all aware, I will leave for Beijing tomorrow morning for an official visit…”

“On that matter, Sir, if I may interrupt, President Xi has actually requested for the meeting to be pushed forward, if possible. He has been called to attend an urgent roundtable meeting in Kuala Lumpur on Monday morning, regarding the South-China Sea dispute. He wishes to meet on Sunday night, eight o’clock, instead of Monday evening.” Tutuola spoke up.

Barba looked slightly exasperated at that; he was not fond of sudden schedule changes, particularly when they involved international travel. “This means I almost have to leave immediately, given the time difference. When was this request made?”

“The phone call came in fifty-seven minutes ago, Sir.”

“Barba,” Calhoun interjected. “This may actually work out well – if you leave for China now, then intelligence at home could concentrate solely on the investigation of Muñoz. Deputy Director Benson will accompany you, as per her role as head of your security detail, along with your usual team, so you will be well protected.  Tutuola, Air Force One is scheduled to depart tomorrow morning. Is it possible to reschedule a departure in four hours, hence reaching Beijing around noon, giving the President ample time to prepare for the meeting?”

“I’ll call Joint Base Andrews right away, but as I understand it, there shouldn’t be any problems.”

“Good. Benson, update the security procedures as per the President’s new schedule. Run it by Director Tucker and the senior team before you lock it into place. Tutuola, contact Senator Dodds and inform him that I’ll be standing in for the President to give the opening address at DSCC’s event this evening.”

“Well, apparently it has all been decided, then,” Barba said dryly. “I take it that my input isn’t important or necessary?”

“ _Fine_. Any objections, Sir?” Calhoun asked, with exaggerated politeness.

He cracked a small smile at his Vice President. “Actually, no. I would have planned it the exact same way myself.

Calhoun shook her head and stood up, as did the rest of the presidential staff. Tucker and Murphy left first, presumably to continue the meeting to align their investigation. Tutuola hurried out of the room, preoccupied with making arrangements for Barba’s brought forward departure.

Olivia picked up Barba’s updated schedule, slipping it into her leather binder, and turned to head out of the room. She had exactly one hour and thirty minutes to map out the new security protocol with her team, as per Tucker’s directions.

“Olivia,” Barba called out, nodding towards the table. “I think you may have forgotten your phone.”

She looked back, spying her phone lying innocuously on the table next to a pile of maps. Berating herself slightly at her carelessness – how could she have forgotten her phone? – she grabbed it and tucked it into the pocket of her sweatpants.

“Thank you, Sir. I’ll be back to brief you in about two hours, with Director Tucker and the rest of the team.”

He nodded, barely looking at her as he placed his palms on the table, eyes focused on the briefs and documents that had been left behind for his attention.

* * *

“Olivia?” Calhoun asked, her eyebrow raised.

“What?” Barba mumbled distractedly, his attention completely on the brief he was holding in his hands.

“Since when are you on a first name basis with Deputy Director Benson?”

He caught on then, and setting down the brief on the table, he turned to look at Calhoun, a mildly annoyed look on his face.

“Rita, I hope you’re not trying to say what I think you’re trying to say.”

She shrugged, holding up her hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “I’m just curious, that’s all. For the record, I find her to be absolutely lovely. Just as long as she’s not married…”

“She’s not,” Barba barked, and then stopped himself as Calhoun smiled at him knowingly. “For fuck’s sake, Rita. I don’t think we’re in high school anymore,” he snapped.

She gave him a sly look. “It may actually improve your poll ratings if you have someone like Deputy Director Benson standing _next_ to you. You’re certainly doing rather well now, but you know what a wholesome family can do for the presidential image.”

“ _Rita_.” Barba’s voice was a low growl as he glared at the Vice President.

Her voice took on a serious tone as she looked at him. “Rafael, all I’m saying is, sometimes you have to give things a chance, then only will you know where it will go.” Calhoun picked up her binder, and clipped her pen to it. She hesitated, and then plunged on. “You know that you have not had a serious relationship, or even _considered_ a serious relationship since Ye…”

“Vice President Calhoun,” Barba cut her off, an edge of ice in his voice as he hit his palm with the documents he was holding. “I think there are much bigger issues of national importance that you need to be concerned about, instead of something as frivolous as my personal life.”

“You know I care about you,” she said bluntly.

His tetchy retort died on his lips, and heaving a sigh, he massaged his temples with his fingers, feeling the onslaught of a migraine. “Perhaps you can consider showing your care in a less intrusive manner?”

Calhoun shouldered her purse and tucked her binder under her arm. “Don’t know how else I can show it. Ribbing you has been my way of care since the first day we met at Harvard.”

Barba gave a non-committal grunt, not looking at her.

“By the way, before I go, is there anything specific you want me to say at the DSCC event?”

He rolled his eyes. “As if you’ll listen to me. You’ll say whatever you want to say, and be done with it.”

“You’re right, I doubt that I’ll listen,” she said cheerfully. Taking a step towards him, she reached out and gave him a quick, one-armed hug. “Don’t worry about the DSCC address tonight, you know I’ll do a good job. And don’t think about Muñoz, the intelligence agencies will take care it. Focus on China, and we’ll talk when you get back.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he muttered, waving his hand as she left the room.

Calhoun smiled to herself as she shut the door. Not many people were privy to Rafael Barba’s childishly petulant side. She had a sneaking suspicion that Deputy Director Benson may be one of them soon.

* * *

“Mummy will be back in just three days,” Olivia ruffled her son’s hair, bending down to give him a huge hug.

“Three days? Promise?” Noah asked, clinging onto her.

“I promise, baby. You must be a good boy for Lucy, okay?”

“I will!” He let go of his mother and bounced over to Lucy, and was promptly scooped up by his babysitter.

“Thanks so much, Lucy,” Olivia said gratefully. “I’m so sorry that this was so last minute, especially since we agreed on you staying with Noah from tomorrow onwards, but something came up and I couldn’t get out of it.”

“It’s fine, Liv,” Lucy said reassuringly. “It’s no trouble for me to stay with Noah, you know what. And oh, before I forgot, I need to tell you that Trevor Langan called today, to remind you of an appointment with Child Services regarding a follow-up for Noah. The date’s been scheduled, he said he had emailed you the specifics.”

“Yes, I remember that. I thought I had emailed him back,” she mused. “Guess maybe it slipped my mind. I’ll speak to him on my way to the airport. Thanks again, Lucy.”

“Have a good trip, Liv. Noah and I will be just fine.”

“Noah and Lucy will be just fine!” Noah affirmed, nodding his head solemnly as Olivia laughed, giving her son one last cuddle and kiss.

* * *

“Abogado safely on board. Angel took off at eleven hundred hours, estimated time of arrival in approximately twelve hours, making that twenty-three hundred hours in Washington, and fourteen hundred hours, Sunday, in Beijing.”

_“Information received, Agent Carisi. Thank you.”_

Carisi adjusted his earpiece, and maintained his position, standing approximately three meters from Barba’s desk, in the plane’s own Oval Office. The President was on teleconference call with the Chief of Staff, Vice President and Secretary of State.

“I’m not comfortable with sharing CIA surveillance reports with the Chinese authorities,” Calhoun argued.

“Calhoun, we have to give them _something_ , if we ultimately want the presence of American intelligence in China _with_ the permission and cooperation of the Chinese government,” Barba pointed out matter-of-factly. “And don’t _even_ suggest we do it without.”

“We cannot compromise US security, Sir.”

“I’m not suggesting that we should ever – Tutuola, I’m not an idiot.”

“I do not mean to imply that you are one, Sir.”

 _If only I’m not the President,_ Barba thought. He suddenly had this immense desire to flip Tutuola off.

“I agree with the President, we need to share at least some of what we have,” Cragen interjected. “I propose that we ask Director Murphy to compile the most complete _but_ basic report on all the preliminary findings. Then President Barba must convince President Xi to cooperate.”

“I’m not worried about Barba’s ability to talk,” Calhoun said breezily. “Get Murphy on line, Tutuola.”

It was another thirty minutes later when Barba finally finished his teleconference call. He looked up to see all the Secret Service agents standing around him.

“At ease, Agents. I presume that I will be safe for the next eleven hours or so, unless one of you secretly plans to assassinate me,” he said dryly. “Please, head out and take a seat, have some food, take a nap. Unless it’s truly your intention to stand for eleven hours and do nothing but stare at me.”

Awkwardly, the Secret Service agents took their leave, filing out of the office, as Olivia held out her hand to stop Amaro before he left. “Organise the shifts so that one agent is on standby at all times outside the Oval Office.”

“Got it,” Amaro nodded, and left, closing the door behind him

It was just Olivia and Barba inside the office now. He leaned back in his plush chair, swivelling around to look out at the skies outside.

“Coffee, Sir?” She asked, heading towards the coffee machine.

“A scotch would probably be a bad idea at this point, wouldn’t it?” He asked.

“Probably not an advisable idea, seeing that you would need all your wits about you for your meeting with the arguably most powerful man in Asia.”

“Coffee, then.”

She made two cups and set one in front of him, taking her seat across of him. He took a long, slow sip, savouring the caffeine.

“Sir, I would suggest that you take a proper nap – however short – in the meantime. We’re going to hit China running, so to speak. You won’t have much chance to catch up on any rest until after the meeting with President Xi.”

“Olivia, can we not talk about work, just for the time being?”

She lifted her own coffee and took a drink out of it. “You’re the boss.”

“Can I not be your boss for a while?”

She set down her coffee cup, and looked at him carefully. “This is probably a stupid question, but are you all right, Sir?”

“Please, Olivia. It’s just us, you can use my first name.”

It was an informal situation in a very formal setting, but hey, you don’t really say no to the President. But then, how do you jump in and call the President by his given name?

“I want Chinese food,” he said suddenly. “Real, authentic Chinese food.”

She laughed at his abrupt declaration. “Well, you’re certainly able to get it when we land.”

He waved his hand impatiently. “I’m not talking about those fancy dishes they served in the grand restaurants, with scallops and abalone and the like. I’m talking about food in tiny restaurants and push carts by the streets.”

Olivia paused, thinking of the best possible way to tell him that it probably would not be possible for him to get anything of that sort during this official visit.

“Rafael,” she began, and then she stopped. Hearing her own voice saying Barba’s given name sounded strange, yet natural at the same time. There wasn’t any ceremonious acknowledgement, though.

“I know what you’re going to say even before you speak,” he said, groaning. “It’s not safe, it’s not possible, it’s not the protocol…”

She shrugged apologetically.

“I find it ironic that the supposed Leader of Free World isn’t really…free. In some sense. Don’t get me wrong, I know what are my duties and my responsibilities and what I represent. I love my job – how can I _not_ love it when it was all I wanted to be since I was eight-years-old?”

Olivia blinked at him. This was another piece of trivia that had remained rather hidden. “Wow. You were a pretty ambitious eight-year-old.”

He smirked at her. “I told myself, if I was going dream big, I might as well go for the biggest dream. For a kid from _el barrio_ , it’s huge.”

“Well, on behalf of the 61% Americans who voted for you in the last election, we’re very glad you achieved your dream.”

“What about you, Olivia? Has it been a childhood dream of yours to enter the Secret Service, and end up protecting a cranky and difficult President?”

She laughed. “No…not exactly. I wanted to be a police officer. I dreamt small.”

_I didn’t have time to dream, or to think about what I want to be. I was too busy making sure that my mother didn’t end up killing herself with alcohol poisoning._

“And when I was in high school, representatives of the United States Armed Forces visited my school for a series of career talks. Hot men in uniform were very convincing,” she joked.

Barba tutted. “I am very disappointed to find out how shallow you actually are,” he said with mock despair.

“Hot men in uniform _always_ works, it’s undeniable. But no, on a more serious note…” she paused, thinking. “The whole idea of defending my country was definitely romanticised to a teenage me, to some degree. So I joined the Navy, completed my training, did several stints overseas with the US Navy, and the Secret Service came after that.”

She gave him a look. “But you knew all of that, it was all in my file.”

“What wasn’t in your file would be your true motivation in joining the armed forces.”

“I just want to…I don’t know, escape, I would say. And joining the Navy seemed like the best idea, at that time.”

His green eyes were trained on her brown ones. “Escape?”

She took a deep breath. “I didn’t have a very happy childhood. I never knew my father, my mother cared about the bottle more than she cared about me…” she shrugged. “I had to get away, so I did.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then he spoke. “I can relate to the unhappy childhood.”

She was surprised. “But you and your mother…you seemed very close.”

“Oh, that we are. I am extremely close to my mother, and we always have had a great relationship. The person in my equation of my unhappy childhood would be my dearest Papì, who was an abusive drunk.” His smile was sardonic. “Not something that a campaign manager would particularly want to focus on, of course.”

“We can’t choose our parents.”

“No,” he agreed. “We can’t.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, both recognising the fact that they have crossed a certain line in their working relationship, with their very personal revelations to each other.

And it felt okay. It felt more than okay.

The phone on his desk rang suddenly, startling them out of their reverie. He picked it up quickly. “Barba.”

“Rafael, it’s me,” Calhoun said briskly. “A few matters I need to discuss with you.”

“Go on,” he said, as Olivia stood up and gestured towards the door. He nodded in acknowledgement, still concentrating on the phone call, and she quietly slipped out of the room.

Shutting the door, she leaned against it for a moment.

She was a mature woman, with years of military training and professional experience under her belt, well-trained and well-tuned to handle all situations, but even so, she could not really ignore the way her heart a skipped a beat when Barba had looked at her with those expressive green eyes of his.

 _Remember who you are. Remember who he is_ , she told herself sternly. Being friends was still fine, but definitely nothing beyond that.

* * *

Barba disconnected the call, and leaned back in his chair, staring at the space where Olivia had occupied twenty minutes ago.

He resisted the impulse to ask for her to come in again, to sit with him, to talk about things that had little bearing on him as President, and her as the Secret Service Deputy Director.

Instead, he decided to take her advice. He stood, intending to head for his bedroom, lie down, and take a well-deserved nap.

As he had told Calhoun earlier on, his personal life wasn’t a matter of national concern, therefore he shouldn’t be focusing on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of notes:
> 
> President Barba’s jogging habit and schedule stolen from President Bill Clinton. 
> 
> DSCC stands for the Democrat Senatorial Campaign Committee. An actual event attended by President Obama (stolen from the President’s Schedule on the White House blog).
> 
> Decided on Abogado for Barba’s codename (thanks olivia-tennant, Ellie, barsonaddict), which essentially is “attorney” in Spanish. Foreign language is always cooler. ;)
> 
> And yeap, Barba and Liv are still trying to figure things out although it’s pretty much obvious what it is…I hope to write some squabbling Barba/Liv in the next chapter, but I need to work out what the squabble would be about.
> 
> Thanks for all the reviews! It’s super encouraging to me.


	5. 05: every breath is suspended in space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chaptered fic; _only a heartbeat away 05 (every breath is suspended in space)_  
>  fandom: law & order svu  
> pairing: rafael barba/olivia benson  
> word count: 4532 words  
> note: a bodyguard-ish AU inspired by a tweet liked by Mariska and the #BarbaForPrez hashtag. Title of fic and chapter titles taken/adapted from Vixens’ Only a Heartbeat Away.

Barba stepped out of Air Force One, buttoning his suit jacket deftly as he descended from the stairs. The flight was long and not entirely comfortable; he had gotten only minimal sleep, as his brain had refused to cooperate with his body. Still, he managed to get a couple of hours in, and that should hold him together. He was used to functioning with even less sleep, stemming back to the early days of being a District Attorney.

So long as there was sufficient coffee supplied for him.

He walked past the two lines of uniformed Chinese soldiers saluting him, nodding his respects towards them, and approached President Xi. The most powerful man in Asia gave him a warm smile, and shook his hand.

“President Barba, welcome to Beijing,” he said in accented English, and then he switched to Mandarin. Barba’s translator listened intently, and then translated. “I trust you had a good flight? Please, come this way.”

Barba nodded, and fell in step beside the Chinese President. “I appreciate you receiving me at the airfield, President Xi.”

President Xi smiled amiably. “It is an honor to receive you in Beijing, President Barba. I am looking forward to a very fruitful meeting later.”

They stopped at the limousine – an official car of the American government - intended for Barba, with President Xi continuing on with the small talk, while Amaro and Carisi efficiently swept and scanned the car, performing the routine security check. Ascertaining that all was clear, Olivia reached forward and opened the car door. Barba exchanged a few more genial words with his Chinese counterpart, and then slid into the car. Olivia followed him, and the car door closed with a silent thump.

He sighed, leaning back against the plush leather seats. “This is not going to be an easy meeting,” he muttered.

Olivia looked up from her tablet, where she was currently monitoring the route to Zhongnanhai, the headquarters of the Chinese Communist Party and the Chinese Central Government. “Sir, surely you’re not expecting the meeting to be a breeze. This is China, and you’re planning to install American intelligence on their soil.” She gave him a half-grin. “With all due respect, good luck.”

“I have the necessary smarts in abundance, Olivia. I don’t need luck. What I _do_ need, is a strong cup of coffee. Can you help to make sure I get one?”

She threw him a look. “Coffee? Now? I’m sorry but it’s not like we can pop by the nearest Starbucks drive-through.”

Barba made a very un-President like face at her, and she laughed.

* * *

Zhongnanhai was a beautiful place, a mix of modern and ancient structures. But Barba wasn’t there to admire the architecture, even if he would like to do so. He sat across President Xi , both respectively flanked by translators and bodyguards.

It had been a long meeting, and Barba had presented his case, and it was now the moment to convince his Chinese counterpart that China’s support would be vital for this matter.

“As it is clearly shown in the CIA report, there has been constant communication between Zahid Rahman Al-Masahoor and Xinjiang. Bearing in mind that Zahid Rahman has been a vocal supporter of the terrorist acts committed by Lal Masjid in Pakistan, we have sufficient reason to believe that this communication must be monitored.”

“President Barba, I agree that the communication must be put under surveillance,” President Xi said calmly. “But it will be under _Chinese_ surveillance.”

His meaning was clear, and Barba frowned a little. Clearing his throat, he looked at President Xi in the eye. “The United States of America has always appreciated China’s cooperation on the matters of global security.”

“And China will always cooperate for the importance of global security,” the Chinese President interjected smoothly.

“Mr. President, I believe our collaboration will achieve the most feasible outcome on this matter,” Barba says earnestly. “Your government is well attuned to the Xinjiang and the radical movement there, and my government has all the information you will need, as to whom are the people currently supporting the radical Islamists in China. Surely you can see the benefit, and the greater picture.”

President Xi purses his lips, considering. Turning to two of his advisors, he conferred with them in low tones, in rapid Mandarin. Barba tilted his head perceptibly towards his translator, and she nodded in return. To her best ability given the low volume, she would translate that conversation for him later, but not in front of the Chinese officials.

They seemed to have come to a conclusion, as President Xi nodded, and the senior advisors stepped back. Lacing his fingers together, the Chinese President looked at Barba squarely in the eye. “President Barba, I have taken your argument into consideration. China and the Ministry of State Security will be pleased to receive the assistance of the American CIA in this matter. If you could arrange a team of no more than ten agents, the MSS will be willing to host them here at Zhongnanhai, and foster a productive working relationship.”

Barba smiled, and stood up. “Thank you, President Xi, for your willingness to work together with us for the purpose of global security.”

President Xi clasped his hand, and shook it resolutely. “The MSS will liaise with the American CIA, President Barba, and I trust an agreement will be reached.”

“Of that, I am sure it will be.”

They posed for the obligatory official photo, and then President Xi gestured politely towards the door. “Would you be needing some of my agents as official escorts?”

“I appreciate your kind thought, but my team will be sufficient.”

“And you will be leaving China tonight?”

“I believe it to be tomorrow morning.”

“I wish you a safe flight back to America, President Barba, and I sincerely apologise that I will not be able to see you off, for I will be in Kuala Lumpur. But the Vice President, Li Yuanchao, will be standing in for me should you wish to discuss any other matters before you depart.”

They shook hands one final time, and Barba met his eye resolutely, and gave a little bow. “Thank you for your time, President Xi.”

* * *

It was nine-thirty at night when they arrived at the hotel, and nearly ten o’clock when the Presidential Suite was cleared by Secret Service. There had been little fanfare, because it was a sudden, unscheduled visit. Additionally, Barba did not plan for his visit to Beijing and his meeting with President Xi to be worldwide news, given the confidential nature of the discussion. The President’s staff and the Secret Service, with the Chinese government’s assistance, had ascertained that all the necessary protocol and security procedures were duly followed, but this was definitely the smallest and most low-key official visit Barba had since he became President.

He took off his suit jacket, tossing it carelessly on the couch, and loosened his tie as he watched Olivia issue directives to the dozen Secret Service agents surrounding her. He knew that another two dozen agents were situated at various points in the hotel, and around the hotel.

He headed to the bar counter, and reached for a bottle of mineral water, unscrewing the cap and pouring himself a glass of water. Olivia approached him, slipping her phone into her pocket.

“Sir, your room has been secured. Air Force One will take off at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, so you should get some rest now. I’ll be in the room next to yours should you need me.”

“I need you now,” he said candidly, putting down his glass.

Slightly startled, she looked around her, relieved to see that all the other agents had assumed their posts, and she was the only one with Barba in the living room of the suite.

“Remember what I told you about Chinese food whilst we were in the air? Well, let’s go get some now.”

She looked at him uncertainly. “You want Chinese food? Chinese _street_ food? Now?”

He nodded, grinning at her, and she shrugged. “Well, if you insist. What would you like? I’ll get Amaro and Carisi to do a true-blue Chinese takeaway.”

“I don’t want a takeaway,” Barba said, unsnapping the locks of his suitcase and removing a polo-shirt, a pair of casual pants, a hat and a pair of glasses with clear glass. “I want to go out, buy the food myself from a street cart, and eat it then and there.”

Olivia stared at him incredulously. “Sir…? If this is a joke, it is in very bad taste.”

“I’m not joking.”

She shook her head. “Sir, I must draw the line. This is completely ridiculous. You cannot be suggesting that the President of the United States of America walk out onto street in China, buying food from street carts.”

“Look, let’s approach this from a logical point of view, shall we? This is China. There’s going to be a million people on the streets at any given moment. No one will notice me whatsoever.”

“I beg to differ. You are the _President._ And you just said it yourself. A million people. A million possibilities for something to go wrong. I cannot ask for two dozen Secret Service agents to escort you while you fulfil your appetite for Chinese food. That’s just…”

Olivia shook her head again, she could not believe that she was having this conversation. “There’s no logic to your plan. As the head of your security detail, I can tell this is not happening, and it’s never going to happen.”

He frowned at her. Deep down, of course he knew that he was being utterly ridiculous. The President simply couldn’t walk out to the street and buy a fried dumpling. But another part of him – the rebellious, albeit illogical and crazy part – just wanted a moment of reprieve from all the stress of the last two months.

And that rebellious part was telling him that it _would_ work. He just needed to blend into the crowd, and with the hat and glasses, he was going to look like a stereotypical Western tourist that every Chinese and every other tourist would not give a second glance to.

“Olivia, just give me an hour. I just want to walk out there, and be _normal_ , even for a short while.”

“Sir… _Rafael_ ,” she said, his given name escaping her in her exasperation. “No. What you’re suggesting is an outrageous breach of security protocol. I cannot allow it.”

“I’ll hold myself responsible if anything happens.”

She could feel her heckles rising; she could not believe at how utterly stubborn and preposterous the President was being. The whole thing was insane. No Secret Service agent with a functioning brain would allow for this.

“It’s not _just you_ ,” she said, her voice dangerously low. “Do you realise that if anything happens to you, it’ll be an international incident between the United States and China? And do I really need to remind you that there had been genuine attempts on your life as of late?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me! Damnit, Olivia, I’m literally going to walk downstairs, buy food, eat it, and come back up. Simple and straightforward. I doubt that Muñoz had stalked me all the way to China.”

“You’re not going to be able to guarantee that nothing will happen.”

“But nothing will.”

“Why are you being such a stubborn, reckless _ass_?” The words spilled out before she could stop herself, and she clapped her hand over her mouth in shock.

She just called the President a stubborn ass. Surely that was grounds for dismissal, even if he _was_ a stubborn ass.

Barba looked furious for a moment, and suddenly, inexplicably, he began laughing. She stared at him warily, not daring to react, until he stopped laughing, and looked at her.

“You’re right, you know,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I am being an ass about this, but Olivia…” he hesitated, and then he continued. “I want you to understand, that I need this. Just a moment where I can be Rafael Barba, not President Barba. It helps me recalibrate.”

He smiled, reminiscing. “Eddie had indulged me, on two occasions on private, low-key trips such as this one,” he said. “Oh, he was like you, telling me how stupid, how dangerous, but inherently, he understood that I needed it.”

He looked at her, all traces of mirth gone now. “And I hope that you would, too.”

She felt her anger simmering down, but still, she could not bring herself to say yes to his recklessness. Her first and utmost concern should be the President’s security. Her concern about his feelings was supposed to come way down the queue. Additionally, if Tucker ever found out that she was even contemplating this, she’d be fired for sure.

“Look, if you say no, there’s really nothing I can do,” he said. “You have the authority to lock me up in this room, I know that.”

She sighed. She had a feeling that she was making a huge mistake and she was perhaps putting an end to her career by doing this, but somehow, his words about needing to be _himself_ touched a chord in her.

“One hour, that’s all I can give you,” she said, laying down the ground rules. “I can’t have the whole security team out with us, we need to stay inconspicuous. But I will stick to you like a leech, and I must have Amaro and Carisi following in a safe distance, and another two agents ahead of us. I’ll also have to brief the remainder agents. And if this gets back to Director Tucker, you will tell him that you forced me to do this at gunpoint.”

He smiled. “Deal.”

* * *

“Wangfuqing Street would be the nearest place you can get your Chinese street food,” she murmured as they ducked out of the hotel discreetly. “It’s literally just down the road, so we can get in, and you can stuff yourself silly, and then we get out.”

“Is that the appropriate way to talk to your boss?” He said jokingly.

She shot him a look, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. She touched her earpiece and spoke quietly and rapidly. “Abogado is moving. Wangfuqing Street.”

The streets were still loud, noisy and packed with people even though it was quite late at night. No one noticed them hurrying along the street. Olivia was maybe dressed albeit too formally in dress pants and a blouse, but Barba fitted right in with his casual clothes. As he had predicted, no one gave them a second glance; they were simply two faces in a crowd of thousands.

As they entered the busy street of Wangfuqing, the smell of all kinds of food hit them. Barba immediately headed towards the nearest stall, where an elderly Chinese woman was selling fried dumplings, or _jiao zi_. He ordered a portion, and received four dumplings on a paper plate. Eagerly, he tried one, and practically moaned as he bit into it.

“This,” he said, chewing, “is out of this world.” He held out the paper plate to her. “Olivia, you have to try one.”

She speared one with the plastic fork he was holding out to her, and took a bite. He was right; it was mind-blowingly good.

He had already moved on to the next cart, as she hurried to his side, he was staring at the fare the hawker had to offer. It looked like squid, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Excuse me…may I know what this is?” He called out to the hawker, pointing at the dish. The man, however, stared at him blankly.

“ _Ni ke yi gao shu wo men na shi shen me ma?”_  Olivia stepped in in front of him, speaking in effortless Mandarin. At least, it sounded effortless to Barba’s ears. “Can you tell us what is that?”

“ _O, shi zhang yu a…shi kao zhang yu a_ ,” the man replied brightly, smiling at her. “Oh, it’s squid…grilled squid.”

She turned to him. “It’s grilled squid. Do you want some?” He nodded, and she smiled back at the hawker, handing him some money.

“ _Ni ke yiu get wo men yi fen ma? Xie xie,”_ she said politely. “Can you please give us one share? Thanks.”

“You can speak Mandarin?” He asked incredulously, taking the paper bag of grilled squid that she was holding out to him.

She shrugged. “Some. I had spent a couple of years on and off in China…covert US Navy operation some years back.”

“ _Amazing_. Maybe you could double up as my translator for any subsequent visits to China or Taiwan.”

She snorted. “You wish. I know how to obtain food and directions in Mandarin, that’s as far as my Mandarin proficiency go.

“And here am I, thinking I could cut the cost for a Mandarin-to-English translator.”

Olivia laughed. “Oh sure, certainly, if you ever feel like starting a war with China on the account of me giving you completely wonky translations and interpretations.”

“Well, I supposed that would not be on my list of priorities, ever…oh hey! Pancakes!” He broke off his own sentence, seeing scallion pancakes to his right. He hurried over to the stall and bought two pancakes, piping hot and wrapped in brown paper. He handed one to her as he bit into his own pancake.

“I want one of those fried doughnut sticks,” he said, swallowing his mouthful of pancake. “I don’t know what’s it called, but I’ll know it when I see it.”

“ _You tiao,_ ” she said, knowing that he meant the deep fried savoury doughnut that the Chinese people eats with porridge for breakfast.

Barba threw her a look. “Are you expecting me to understand?”

She laughed as they walked down the street, keeping an eye out for his fried doughnuts. She kept her hand firmly on his elbow as they walked, steering him as they pushed through the throngs of people.

“Oh, you have to try this!” She stopped in front of a food cart, where colourful sticks of red fruit were displayed. He looked at them, wrinkling his nose a little.

“What _are_ those?”

“ _Bing tang hu lu_ – sorry, I mean, sugared hawthorn berries,” she answered excitedly. “They’re hawthorn berries covered in a sugar shell. It’s really, really good.”

She paid for two sticks of berries, and handed him one. He pulled one off the stick with his teeth and crunched down on it. Almost instantly, he winced. “Jesus, that is way too sweet.”

Olivia was already starting on her second berry. “What are you talking about? It’s a perfect balance of sweet and sour.”

“What sour? All I got was a mouthful of sugar.”

“Your palate is problematic,” she shot at him. He rolled his eyes and handed her his stick of sugared hawthorn berries.

“Since you like it so much, you can have mine.”

“Gladly,” she grinned, taking the stick of berries from him.

“Now, I really want my fried doughnuts,” he said, craning his neck a little, scanning all the little food stalls around them.

“Relax, Rafael. This is a street food market. You’ll get your doughnuts,” she reassured him, polishing off her stick of berries and starting on his.

“Oh wait, I think I see them down the street,” he said, noticing a stall out of the corner of his eye. She laughed, following him as he practically bounced over to his precious doughnuts. He bought a packet, piping hot and freshly fried, and almost immediately devoured one.

“Ow,” he mumbled through a mouthful of doughnut. “Hot.”

She shook her head, digging into her pocket for a tissue, noting the streak of oil on the side of his cheek and the crumbs on his chin.

“This is a revelation,” she remarked.  “Who would’ve thought that the President is such a messy eater?”

“What?” He asked distractedly, as he polished off one fried doughnut.

Olivia shook her head. “If only you could see yourself right now,” she teased. Without thinking, she reached out, and dabbed the tissue on his oily cheek, wiping gently. Only when his eyes widened, then she realised what she was doing.

A flush rose on her neck, and she quickly pulled back her hand. There was a short pause of three seconds, when they just looked at each other, before she averted her eyes and handed him the tissue. “You have crumbs all over your chin.”

“Thanks,” he said awkwardly, taking the tissue and wiping his mouth neatly with it.

She cleared her throat, looking at her watch. “We have another ten minutes, sir, and then we need to go.”

 It didn’t escape him that her light-hearted manner had eased, and that she had just reverted back to formality. Still, he tried to keep his own tone casual. “Well, I’m going to need to get more of the fried doughnuts, then.”

* * *

They stepped into the Presidential Suite together, and the four agents in the living room immediately jumped to attention.

“Premises are secured, Deputy Director Benson.”

“Good,” she nodded, looking at them. “Let me clarify that this will be noted on the daily report as a ‘personal dinner engagement’.

“Duly noted, Deputy Director.”

She escorted Barba into the spacious bedroom of the suite, eyes on the tablet in her hand as she ascertained his schedule tomorrow in leaving China. “Sir, as conveyed earlier, Air Force One leaves Beijing at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. We will depart from here by seven-thirty.”

“Benson, can I speak with you privately for a moment?”

“Of course, Mr. President.” She glanced towards Amaro and Carisi, who were standing guard at the door of the bedroom. They immediately stepped back, closing the door behind them, leaving Barba and Olivia alone in the room.

 “I know how much you didn’t want to let me venture out,”, he began, “and I know that there were enormous security risks…but I just…well, I just had to get out of the box of being President, even if it was for just a short while. And I know I was being foolhardy, but I had complete trust in you. And the team,” he said hastily. “So…thank you, Olivia, for relenting. I had needed that window of time to myself.”

“And you needed fried doughnuts,” she added, smiling.

“That, too,” he laughed.

“But honestly, Rafael? This is a one-off thing. Don’t ask me to do it again. That has got to be one of the most stressful hours of my life.”

“Stressful?” He echoed. “I could have sworn you were enjoying yourself, the way you were inhaling those sickeningly sweet berries.”

“Not at the rate _you_ were inhaling the fried doughnuts,” she retorted, putting one hand on her hip.

“I seem to remember you’re guilty of eating those doughnuts, too.”

“Fine, if I’m a glutton, then so are you,” she shrugged.

They smiled at each other, a look of shared understanding, and then Barba took a step closer to her. “I really did enjoy myself tonight,” he said.

“I did, too,” she admitted.

His eyes, a shade darker than its usual green, bore into hers, and she felt her heartbeat sped up. He was looking at her so intently, but she couldn’t really read the expression in his eyes. He was standing so very close to her, almost invading her personal bubble, but somehow, she could not step back, and step away.

Barba, on his part, was all too aware of how close they were to each other. Her eyes were wide and unblinking and he thought that he could see a flicker of apprehension in them. But she didn’t move to put any distance between them.

It was a crazy thought, really, but it had been a crazy night, so perhaps it wasn’t such an insane thought after all.

His hand hovered at her waist as he leaned in a fraction closer, bending down just slightly, noticing for the first time that he was only a fraction taller than she is. Her eyes were closing, and his fingertips were grazing at her waist, when suddenly, his mobile phone rang, shrilling loudly.

Taken back, they both gave a start, and Olivia, opening her eyes, took a giant step back, coming to her senses. Barba, looking unusually flustered, fumbled with his phone a little, and then swiped to answer it. But when he spoke, his voice was commanding and steady. “Rita, what is it? It’s nearly midnight in China, this had better be important.”

Olivia took a deep breath, composing herself, and managing that in the space of five seconds. Slipping her tablet into the designated carrying case, she gestured to Barba, pointing towards the door. The President was listening intently to Calhoun on the other end, and he nodded his assent as she left the room.

Closing the door quietly behind her, she rested her back against the door. What the hell was that in there? He was the President _._ She was his Secret Service agent. The easy friendship that they had built and shared was making her lose sight of their roles, causing her to forget her place.

 _He’s the President, Liv,_ she told herself firmly, resolutely. There were boundaries. There will _always_ be boundaries. He was not an ordinary person, and neither was she.

* * *

Barba ended his call with Rita, and stared at his phone. If it had not rung, would he have really kissed her?

He had a sneaking suspicion that the answer would be yes.

He headed straight towards the mini-bar in his room, retrieving a bottle scotch and pouring himself a glass. He should be thankful to Rita and her timing. He was on the verge of doing something really stupid, and his quota for stupid things for the night had been filled with his outing.

Or was it really so stupid?

After all, she wasn’t married. And neither was he. And since he was all alone in his room, he could freely admit to himself that there was something about her that was just… _her_.

He sighed, pouring himself another glass of scotch. He couldn’t be thinking about this, thinking about her. He had a country to run, and that should take precedence above everything else.

When he eventually got into bed for some well-deserved rest after an extremely long day, the what-if question was still dancing in his head.

* * *

Everything was back to normal the next day.

She lectured him about a security protocol, and he snarked back at her, and they strived to make it normal, and act as they usually would, with each other.

They touched down safely at Joint Base Andrews after an uneventful flight, and Olivia and the Secret Service escorted Barba back to the White House, where he was immediately immersed in updates and documents from the Vice President and the staff.

She immediately assembled her team, and did the necessary handover to Carisi. Digitally signing out and unclipping her White House security clearance card, Olivia hurried out of the compound, checking her watch.

She would just be able to make it for her meeting with Child Services and Trevor Langan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The Mandarin is pin yin, and correct as I know it.  
> 2) I realise the whole Barba and Liv outing in Wangfuqing (by the way, this is a real place and one of Beijing’s most famous streets for street food) is probably totally illogical as far as the real presidential protocol goes, but as a fanfiction author, I claim artistic license.  
> 3) My chapter outline had more stuff happening, but it was getting to be too long, so I cut it. I ended up having half of the next chapter planned, so hopefully the next chapter won’t take too long.  
> 4) Reviews are love!


	6. 06: and pretending that we don't care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chaptered fic; _only a heartbeat away 06 (and pretending that we don’t care)_  
>  pairing: rafael barba/olivia benson  
> word count: 5223 words  
> note: a bodyguard-ish AU inspired by a tweet liked by Mariska and the #BarbaForPrez hashtag. Title of fic and chapter titles taken/adapted from Vixens’ Only a Heartbeat Away.

Oliva hurried into the offices of Child Services, and saw that Trevor was already waiting, with Lucy sitting beside him, Noah securely on her lap. As soon as Noah saw her, he wriggled off Lucy’s lap and ran towards her, arms outstretched.

“Mummy!”

Olivia felt a huge smile breaking over her face as she bent down and scooped up the little boy in her arms, pressing kisses onto his cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much, baby…did you miss me?”

Noah reached out and patted her cheek, giggling. “Yes, Mummy. Noah miss you.”

She laughed and smoothed back an unruly lock of curl with her hand, feeling her heart swelling with love for this precious little boy in her arms. “Thanks for looking after him, Lucy. I don’t know what I’ll do without you. Any problems while I was away?”

Lucy grinned as she approached them, Noah’s bag of necessities slung over her shoulder, with Trevor behind her. The lawyer was struggling with his briefcase, preoccupied with retrieving the files he had inside.

“Everything was fine, Liv. This little man had a moment of naughtiness when going to bed yesterday as he refused to sleep until you read him a bedtime story, but I managed to pacify him.”

“Miss mummy,” the toddler interjected, his face serious, and Oliva laughed, hugging him closer.

“Liv, I trust that you’ve looked through all the documents I sent you?” Trevor asked, snapping the locks of his briefcase shut, the files he needed tucked under his arm.

She nodded. “Yes, every single one of them.” She had spent the entire return trip from Beijing preparing for this meeting with her case officer from Child Services as well as the judge, poring over every bit of information given to her by Trevor. She was not nervous exactly; she knew she was a good mother and she could provide for Noah, and most importantly, she loved him like he was her own. All these had to translate across to Child Services, surely.

But still, she needed to be prepared, to handle anything that they could potentially throw towards her.

“This meeting should be formality, but Liv, I need to say something…” Trevor hesitated, and then plunged on. “The judge had been concerned about how little physical time you have spent with Noah in the last few months – ever since you took up your new job.”

Olivia felt her heart dropped a little as she stared at her lawyer. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“I’ll be honest, it _might_ , but the fact that you have Lucy, and that you engaged with her very constantly when you’re at work, and that you are very aware of Noah’s wellbeing even when you’re away on…work engagements – that should work massively in your favour.”

She nodded, her mind already constructing arguments in her favour should the judge and the case officer bring anything up.

Trevor cleared his throat, resting his hand briefly on her arm to catch her attention. “But if I may, Liv…you may want to consider scheduling your work hours – if that is possible,” he added hastily.

Like Lucy, he knew that she worked for the President, her work was highly classified and she wasn’t able to give the whole picture on what she did. But it was imperative that she understood certain arrangements may had to be made to secure her future with Noah.

The wheels in Olivia’s heard were turning as she contemplated what Trevor had just said. It would be difficult, but not impossible to discuss changes to her role. She felt her cheeks grow warm as she remembered what had transpired yesterday in China, between the Barba and herself. For a while there, everything had seemed so different – their relationship, their interaction – from fighting with him in the Presidential Suite regarding his crazy plan to their time together in Wangfuqing. And of course, that moment between them after everything…

There hadn’t been enough time for her to properly dissect _that_ , but right now, perhaps some distance would be just what they need.

“Thanks, Trevor. I will keep that in mind.”

* * *

The meeting proceeded smoothly, as they worked through the steps and the process, and the meeting moved on, it seemed like Trevor’s concern wasn’t coming into fruition after all.

“Thank you for coming in, Ms. Benson, Mr. Langan.” The case officer rose from her seat, satisfied with the proceedings, and Olivia felt a wave of relief washing over her.

Standing up, she shifted Noah to her hip and held out her hand, only to be interrupted by the judge. “If I may have a few more minutes of your time. Ms. Benson.”

She shared a look with Trevor, and they both sat down again, as did the case officer. “Ms. Benson, looking at these, I see that you had been away rather frequently over the last few months.”

“Yes, that is true, but the nature of my job is that…”

“I understand the nature of your job.” The judge took off her glasses and stared at Olivia directly. “However, I _am_ concerned about what it means for Noah’s upbringing. Ms. Benson, you cannot be an absent parent.”

“With all due respect, your honor,” Trevor jumped to his feet. “My client has never missed a day with Noah, barring her unavoidable work engagements out of Washington. You would see from her case files that Noah is properly cared for, and is tracking extremely healthy levels of physical, intellectual and mental growth.”

“Point taken, Mr. Langan,” the judge said dryly. “Ms. Benson, I agree that Noah is happy and well-adjusted, however, this needs to be _maintained_ , and as of now, I have some reservations about the time you spent caring for Noah. Therefore, I highly suggest you make certain adjustments to your schedule.”

She stood up, and readjusted her robe. “I will see you back here in two months.”

The case officer shook their hands, and hurried out of the room, muttering something about a heavy workload. Olivia looked at Trevor, her brow furrowed.

“Should I be worried?”

“Well, not exactly, but Liv, like I said, think about making _some_ adjustments. Maybe less late nights, less days out of town. The judge isn’t blind; she knows that you’re good for Noah, but we just need to work a little harder to prove that.”

She nodded, understanding, and she knew what she had to do.

* * *

Barba stared the documents in his hand, shuffling through them without really reading the contents. Director Murphy had just handed him the folder with the details of the finalised team from CIA to be dispatched to China, and he was supposed to sign it off today, so the team could leave in the evening.

But he wasn’t concentrating at all, as he tapped his pen against the edge of the folder. He was thinking about Olivia. He was thinking about the way her eyes flashed as she yelled at him about him being a stubborn ass, the way she had relented, the way they had snuck out of the hotel together.

He could still remember how carefree he had felt as he walked down that noisy, brightly lit Chinese street with her beside him, and how wonderful it was to be just Rafael Barba, eating street food, instead of President Barba. He smiled to himself, remembering how she had shocked him with her linguistic abilities, the childish glee in her face as she ate the sugared berries, and the way they shared and split all the food they bought.

He thought about how she had laughed at him, and cleaned his face with a tissue. Of course, she had reverted back to status quo almost immediately, but her gesture had been so natural, almost like they had been doing this all their lives, like they were just ordinary people spending time together, enjoying each other’s company.

It was almost too easy to forget who they were.

And after that…even now, he couldn’t stop replaying it in his mind how close he – _they_ – came to kissing.

And he would’ve probably done it.

Barba was not an idiot, nor was he going to go around in circles thinking about feelings like some kind of immature teenager. He knew very well that he was attracted to Olivia. Extremely attracted. He liked her. She was beautiful, strong, fiery. She understood him, and yet she took none of his shit.

And if his gut feeling was right – bearing in mind he was very rarely wrong – she was attracted to him, too.

His problem was…he didn’t quite know where he could, or should, go with this. Technically, there wasn’t any rules against the President having a relationship with a member of the Secret Service team. There may be some problems with conflict of interest, but Barba didn’t think it was anything that cannot be worked through.

But it was one thing to be attracted to Olivia, and another thing completely to contemplate an actual relationship.

“Stop it, Rafael.” Rita’s voice pierced through his thoughts. Startled, he looked up to see her looking at him exasperatedly. “You’ve been tapping your pen on the table for the last five minutes and it’s driving me insane.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, putting down the pen, and the folder, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

Rita’s mouth dropped opened. “Did President Barba just apologised to me? I need to schedule a press conference, it’s an occurrence as rare as the moon turning blue.”

“Oh haha. Forgive me for forgetting to laugh,” he said sarcastically. “I’m not in the mood, Rita.”

“What’s wrong with you?” She asked bluntly. “I’ve rarely seen you so distracted.”

“Nothing.”

She was about to say something, when three sharp knocks sounded on the door of the Oval Office. The door opened, and Olivia walked in. Almost against his will, he felt the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile.

“President Barba, Vice President Calhoun, it’s almost time for you to leave for the Senate. The state cars will be ready in fifteen minutes, and we’ll escort you out when they’re here.”

His eyes met hers, and held her gaze for three seconds, before she averted her eyes. “Thank you, Olivia,” he said calmly.

She nodded, and gracefully exited the room. As soon as the door closed behind her, Rita turned to him, a knowing look on her face. “It’s her, isn’t it? Deputy Director Benson.”

To his horror, Barba felt his face grow warm. Quickly, he rearranged his features into the fiercest glare he could muster. “Rita, honestly? You’re about as funny as a funeral right now.”

“Rafael, I’ve known you for more than half your lifetime. You can try as hard as you want, but you do know I can see through you,” she said crisply, slipping her phone into her briefcase and putting on her blazer.

“Calhoun,” he growled, his eyes shooting daggers as he reached for his suit jacket.

She shook her head. “You can tell me all kinds of bullshit, but please don’t bullshit yourself.”

He gave up trying to pretend otherwise. As she had said, she was one of his oldest and closest friends, there was no point, actually. “You know it’s going to be complicated.”

“If you’re going to let everything slide past you on the basis that it’s going to be complicated, then that’s your decision. But let me remind you – you may be the President but you are entitled to a private life like everyone else. As long as you don’t fuck up the administration of this country, whatever happens in your private life is your prerogative.”

He knew that she was right, of course, but as far the dynamics of their personal friendship went, he never let her know that she was right. At least, not directly.

“Whatever, Rita,” he scowled, sweeping past her.

“Live a little, Barba. I promise you, it’s worth it.”

* * *

“I don’t think I am completely satisfied with your report, Benson. It seems…incomplete.” Tucker laid down the document folder on the table.

“I’m sorry, Director Tucker? Can you elaborate?”

Tucker flipped towards the end of the report. “From twenty two hours to midnight. ‘Personal dinner engagement’? Benson, I am sure you are aware that each and every engagement of the President’s must be vetted, screened, and approved. Would you care to let me know the details of this ‘personal dinner engagement’?”

Olivia shot Barba a glance, and he raised an eyebrow at her. Taking a deep breath, she was prepared to commit the cardinal sin of lying to her boss, when the President leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the Secret Service Director.

“If you must know, Tucker, I ordered room service and had dinner in my hotel room with an old friend. The reason that I asked for it not to be detailed in Benson’s report is that my old friend had a certain national identity of his own that was not to be compromised.”

Tucker frowned. “Sir, please tell me you did not have dinner with a Chinese agent.”

Barba’s retort was sharp, his displeasure evident. “Director Tucker, you do not question me on any aspect of my personal engagements, and I hope you are not implying that you think I am stupid, or careless, or both.”

The older man flushed. “Of course not, Sir.”

“Good, now that’s settled, is there anything else on the agenda?”

“There is, Sir. Deputy Director Benson had a meeting with me earlier today regarding the scheduling of your security detail, and we would like to run some slight changes past you.”

Barba tilted his head to one side and nodded, waiting for Tucker to continue.

“Benson has requested that she would like to take a step back as the head of your security detail, and that the role to be shared with another agent. The new agent coming on board will be Assistant Director Michael Dodds.”

He shot a look at Olivia, slightly taken back. Almost inexplicable, he felt a pang of hurt shooting through. This was a decision that affected him, why hadn’t she talked to him about this?

“I see,” he said, picking up his coffee. “May I ask why, Benson?”

“There are certain aspects of my personal life that I need to pay more attention to, Sir. But let me reiterate that I am still heading your security detail, and I am still the sole person responsible. Agent Dodds would be brought on board to stand in for me, primarily for overseas engagements.”

“Mmmm. Tucker, I assumed that you have agreed to this, and you have worked out the details of the new arrangements?”

“Yes, Sir,” Tucker laid down another folder on the table. “The changes are minimal. Your schedule would not be interrupted by any means. You’ll just probably see less of Benson, and more of Agent Dodds. He will be flying in from New York tomorrow morning, and we will perform the complete briefing once he’s here.”

“Well, it seems that it has all been decided, and that my input is not needed,” he said crisply. “And if there’s all there is to this meeting, you may be dismissed.”

They both stood up, gathering all their paperwork, while Barba remained seated, his mind whirling. He barely noticed as they left the room, he was too preoccupied with what that had just transpired, Olivia’s request to be less involved.

It was definitely because of him. But was it because she was uncomfortable with the proximity of their relationship? Or friendship, or whatever this thing was between them because he couldn’t define it anymore.

Was he wrong about how she felt? But even if he was not wrong – did this mean that she didn’t want anything more? For that matter, did _he_ want anything more than what they already had? He supposed he did – but if she didn’t…?

Barba was confused, and he hated feeling confused.

On a whim, he picked up his phone and scrolled to her name.

“Olivia. Can you come by in a while? I need to speak to you privately.”

* * *

Olivia stopped in front of the President’s office, taking a moment to recollect herself. She had a pretty good idea of what he wanted to talk about. She knocked twice, and then entered the office.

Barba was still sitting on the leather couch, and he looked up as she walked in. He gestured to the two-seater opposite his couch, and she sat down.

“So. That kind of came out of nowhere.”

“I know, Sir,” she acknowledged. “It kind of came out of nowhere for me, too.”

He leaned forwards, his eyes intent on hers. “Olivia, I have to ask. Does this have anything to do with…China? Because if it is, then I think we need to talk about…”

“No!” She said immediately, feeling a flush rising to her cheeks. It was certainly unexpected that the President would just bring _that_ up, even though she knew that if she could be honest to herself, it was certainly a convenience that she could put some distance between them. She was starting to forget herself after all.

 “No,” she repeated, her tone calmer. “It’s just some recalibration I have to make to my schedule.”

“Is everything all right with you, Olivia? Is it a family thing, or…?” He asked, his tone careful.

Olivia hesitated, and then she decided to tell him. It wasn’t that big of a deal, right? The President would just have to understand.

“I’m trying to arrange it so that I can spend more time with my foster son. I’m in the midst of finalising his adoption process, and the judge was concerned that I don’t spend enough time with him physically…” she broke off, looking at Barba’s face. He had the strangest expression, somewhat a cross between surprise, shock and hurt.

“…you have a son?”

“Foster son,” she corrected. “I’m sure I’ve mentioned him…”

“No,” he cut her off. “You never did.”

“I thought that was something you’re aware of. That I have a foster son.”

He stood up, and started pacing around the office. “How could that be something I am aware of, Olivia, if you did not _tell_ me?” His tone was sharp, and he couldn’t really understand why. All he knew that he was feeling hurt. A whole damn lot of hurt. How could she not have told him? How could she not have told him about this unequivocally important part of her life?

She looked at him, thoroughly perplexed by his reaction and his emotions. “Sir, it was all in my personnel file. Of course I’d assumed you are aware.”

“I am not in the habit of poring over the personal particulars of the Presidential staff. I prefer to give them the privacy they deserve.”

Olivia stared at him. “Then how is it on me that you don’t know? It was all there, if you chose not to read it…”

“I thought this would be something that you share with me, that…” he faltered. Taking a deep breath, he struggled to regain control of himself. His feelings were all over the place and it was too unlike him. He wasn’t comfortable with feeling so out of control. “Olivia, I thought we are friends. Isn’t this something you would share with a friend?”

“It is, but…” she stopped. It was rather strange that she had not mention Noah to him. Yes, they were friends, and how had she managed to not talk about such an important thing in her life? Did she unconsciously avoid talking about Noah for whatever reason?

But she honestly thought he knew.

She stood up, walking closer to him, holding his gaze with her own. “Rafael, I never intended to keep Noah as a secret.”

He snorted. “Yes, it seemed rather unintentional not to talk about such a huge part of your life.”

She flinched at his brusque tone. “I don’t understand, why are you so _angry_?”

Her words hit him, and he paused. Yes, he was angry. He was hurt. And it was because he felt that she didn’t trust him enough, she never opened up to him, so perhaps she never really viewed him as a friend. Or anything more than that.

If he had thought the thought of _them_ was complicated before this…well, it had just gotten a whole fucking more Everest-level complicated.

“Is there a foster father in the picture?” He asked abruptly.

Now she was angry. “Excuse me? Isn’t that a rather unsuitable question in a rather inappropriate tone?”

He pressed on, she was already furious with him, so he might as well get an answer out of that. “Well, is there?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I’m doing this alone,” she said icily, her arms crossed.

He stared at her, not quite knowing what to say anymore. The air between them crackled with tension, and they were openly glaring at each other. He noticed then, that in the midst of their argument, they had unconsciously moved closer to one another. She was very close to him now, her eyes burning with that familiar fire, her chin jutting out defiantly. They were almost as close as they had been several days ago, in a hotel room in China.

His eyes landed on her lips, and fleetingly, he thought about claiming them, showing her the feelings that he couldn’t put into words, not even to himself.

But that would be utterly unwise.

He took a giant step back, looking away from her. “I apologise,” he said stiffly.

She felt a little of her anger draining out her, but it wasn’t enough for her to smile and pretend everything was okay, that she wasn’t hurt. He may be the President, but he would not get a free pass for being a jerk.

“Apology accepted.”

“I understand your request now, Benson, and we will proceed the way it had been decided. You may excuse yourself.”

His formal usage of her last name didn’t escape her, and she felt a wave of hurt washing over her. “Then I will take my leave, _President Barba_.”

Without another look at him, she turned and left the office.

* * *

Things were immensely awkward between them for the next few days. No one seemed to notice anything was amiss, of course, but everyone noticed that Barba’s mood was inexplicably more sour than usual, and Olivia was snappier than usual. No one made the link, however, except for one very perceptive Vice President. She was wise enough to leave it though, after Barba practically bit her head off for making one innocent comment in private.

It was, on surface, an ordinary morning. President Barba was going through the President’s Daily Brief with his staff. Secret Service Agents stood in attention at various points of the room. Olivia was getting ready for her handover to Agent Dodds in two hours’ time, and they were sitting in a corner of the office, going over the handover details as Barba immersed himself in an argument with Tutuola and Cragen regarding foreign relations with Russia.

“I simply cannot deal with Putin in a rational manner as of now,” Barba threw down the classified documents with a disgusted air. “This is fucking ridiculous. Talk to Lavrov again, Cragen. I need a clear stance on this – it’s not going to go anywhere otherwise.”

“Mr. President, I think…”

Olivia’s phone gave the tiniest of vibrations, and immediately she touches her earpiece. “Benson.”

“Deputy Director, we have a situation. Surveillance has lost sight of Alex Muñoz.”

She felt her heart dropped, and immediately she stood up, walking away from the vicinity of the President and his staff. “How the fuck did this happen?”

“I could give you a thousand and one reasons, Deputy Director, but we don’t have time. Surveillance last had Muñoz getting on the Metro. We’re afraid that the White House may be a very real destination. You have to secure the President.”

“Understood.”

She immediately placed a call to Tucker. “Director, we…”

“I heard,” he cut her off. “I’m dispatching Secret Service agents to the White House now. Secure the White House. Cancel all the tours and evacuate all non White House personnel. Benson, you are _directly_ responsible for the President. Do _not_ let him out of your sight. You know what to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

She walked towards the middle of the Oval Office, not caring that she was interrupting a heated debate between Barba and Calhoun.

“Sir, there’s been a situation. We need to secure you in Presidential Emergency Operations Center now. Dodds, you and the rest of the Agents on duty will take charge here and ascertain the safety of the Vice President. Carisi, Amaro, get the rest of the President’s security team and come with us.”

Everyone reacted swiftly and instantaneously. Gathering documents, briefcases and coats, the rest of the staff converged with Agent Dodds.

“President Barba, come with me.” Olivia rested her hand on Barba’s upper arm, and steered him towards the door, heading towards the East Wing.

“Is it Alex?” He asked quietly, hurrying alongside her, matching her step for step. Amaro, Carisi and a dozen Secret Service agents followed behind.

She nodded, and quickened her step. “Sir, we have to hurry, we need to…”

Before she could finish her sentence, she felt something – _someone –_ knocked into her, hard, and she found herself crashing against the wall, all wind knocked out of her.

“Olivia!” She heard Barba’s voice, and then everything seemed to happen at once.

Secret Service agents swarmed around them, and she heard Carisi’s voice shouting through the fog of pain shooting through her head and her shoulder. But she wasn’t a trained Navy personnel for nothing – she swiftly recalibrated herself and her bearings, and the first thing she saw were dozens of Secret Service Agents with their guns drawn, all aimed at one direction.

She got onto her feet, and then she saw it.

A man she recognised as Alex Muñoz, his arm wrapped firmly around the President’s upper arm, and a gun pointed towards the President’s temple.

“Stay back!” Muñoz yelled, but the agents remained where they were. Olivia pushed herself to the front, her own gun drawn.

“You’re not getting out of here, Muñoz, and you know it,” she said, training her gun towards the man. Barba, for his part, looked remarkably composed, his face carefully blank, betraying no emotions or panic whatsoever. “So why don’t we all make it clean and easy? Let the President go, and there is room for negotiation.”

“I don’t need negotiation,” Muñoz hissed. “I just need this bastard dead, this bastard who took everything away from me.”

“I took nothing from you, Alex. It was all your own doing,” Barba flared up.

“Shut up!” The madman shouted, hitting Barba’s temple with the handle of his gun. The Secret Service reacted immediately, moving closer. Olivia instinctively held out her hand, holding them back.

She had to keep him talking, keep him distracted, and then the other agents would have a chance to move in. “How did you get in here? How did you bypass surveillance?”  

“It was not very easy, but you see, I am very smart. Smarter than you’ll ever be, Rafi – which is why you have always been so jealous of me. It wasn’t just Yelina,” he sneered.

 _Yelina_?

“So how did you do it?” She asked again, in placating tones.

“All it took was two solid months of research, and constructing a device that would jam all your stupid signals. From there on, it was easy to move around, and get in here. I always knew this is where it would end. In a place where it should have been _mine_. The Presidency was mine. You stole it. You _STOLE_ it!” He yelled, suddenly enraged. “Everything…you stole all of it. Even Eddie.”

“You _killed_ Eddie,” Barba said furiously, his voice laced with pain. “How could you? Eddie had always loved you like a brother, and you killed him.”

Muñoz sneered. “He died because of you. His blood is on your hands, bastardo.”

His lack of logic was astounding and he was clearly unhinged, Olivia thought. And this made him very volatile, and very dangerous. They had to tread carefully. Everything was on the line here. She looked at Barba, and he nodded imperceptibly at her.

He trusted her to do whatever she had to do. And she had a plan in mind – that was extremely risky, but looking at her choices right now, it was her last resort.

“Muñoz, it’s futile. If you surrender now…”

“Surrender? I know I’m not walking out of here alive, but neither is _he_.”

“I thought you said you’re a smart man. You’re not acting very smart right now,” Olivia said, taking one small step forward.

Muñoz did not notice. “Shut up, you bitch!”

She smiled mockingly at him. “You’re not very smart, and you’re never going to be President. You’re going to spend the rest of your life losing to him.”

“I said shut up! SHUT UP!” He screamed, his grip loosening on Barba as he wildly swung the gun towards Olivia.

And that was the opening they needed.

Taking a giant step forward, Olivia leapt at Muñoz as the rest of the Secret Service Agents swarmed in, grabbing Barba and moving to surround him in a tight, impenetrable circle.

She grabbed him in a chokehold, expertly delivering a punch to his ribcage as he crumpled into a heap, groaning in pain. Amaro and Carisi rushed forward, guns aimed at Muñoz. She hauled him to his feet, pinning his arms behind him, as the two agents took over.

She immediately turned her attention to Barba. “President Barba, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said in brisk tones. To any other person, he looked unruffled and impeccable given he just had a gun held against his head, but to her, the slight shadow in his eyes gave him away.

She held her hand out to him, resting her hand on his upper arm, and steering him away from his deranged childhood friend. All the other agents surrounded them, protecting the President.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly, reassuringly. “You’re safe now.”

Muñoz looked up to see Barba walking away from him, and one last spurt of rage rushed through him, giving him almost inhuman strength. Screaming, he managed to wrench himself free of the grip Amaro and Carisi had on him.

Before anyone could react, he brandished another small handgun that was previously hidden, and aimed it towards Barba.

He pressed the trigger, and a shot rang out.

Barba closed his eyes instinctively, and then he felt someone colliding into him. He heard the shot, and his ears were ringing, but he didn’t feel the pain.

Around him was total chaos, as he heard shouting, and felt arms grabbing him as his agents once again pulled him into their constructed cocoon of safety. He could still hear Alex screaming in anger, and he could see four agents subduing him, cuffing his arms and his ankles.

But he couldn’t see Olivia.

“Deputy Director Benson!” He heard Carisi’s panicked voice. “Deputy Director!”

And then he saw her. She was lying on the ground, unmoving, as blood pooled out from the sides of her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes:  
> 1) I have unfortunately gone down the cliché path of someone getting shot but honestly, in the context of this story, it was always going to happen, cliché or not.  
> 2) I’m sorry if the whole Muñoz arc seemed messy and the Secret Service looked like morons – I tried very hard to be as realistic as possible but it’s obvious that action plotlines are not my forte. Still, that’s Muñoz wrapped up and I don’t need to go back to him anymore…much anyway.  
> 3) The way I see it – the Barba/Benson relationship will be moving with a little more speed, but it’s not all roses yet – they still have things to resolve, etc etc.  
> 4) I can’t believe I originally intended this to be the most a 5 chapter story. I don’t think I’m even halfway through yet…  
> 5) Reviews, as usual, are love! Especially if you have thoughts/ideas on what you’ll like to see. I have the general direction of the story mapped out but not the intricacies of it.


	7. 07: i'm not holding back tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chaptered fic; _only a heartbeat away 07 (i’m not holding back tonight)_  
>  pairing: rafael barba/olivia benson  
> word count: 5559 words  
> note: a bodyguard-ish AU inspired by a tweet liked by Mariska and the #BarbaForPrez hashtag. Title of fic and chapter titles taken/adapted from Vixens’ Only a Heartbeat Away.

For a moment, Barba froze, staring at Olivia lying motionlessly on the floor. He felt his mouth turning as dry as sawdust as images of Eddie – _Eddie_ , body riddled with bullets – raced through his head. He remembered running towards his friend, only to be swept back by his security.

He remembered not being able to say goodbye.

 _But not this time_ , he thought, almost wildly. _Not Olivia._ He would not say goodbye; he refused to. Memories of his time with Olivia crowded through his head – the first time he saw her, the exasperated look that she was so fond of giving him, their bantering, their private talks, their morning jogs. The first time she called him Rafael. Her smile, her laughter. The way she had looked at him that night in China.

His feet found life, and he lunged towards Olivia, but Amaro held him back.

“Mr. President, we must get you to safety,” his voice was firm and his grip was iron strong, but Barba eased off his arm forcefully, not even listening to him.

“Olivia!” He pushed through the huddle of Secret Service agents, to see Carisi pressing his hand over the gunshot wound at the side of her stomach. Blood pumped through his fingers, and he increased the pressure.

“Come on, Benson. Hang in there,” Carisi mumbles under his breath. “You gotta hang in there.”

Sirens sounded in the distance, and a dozen Secret Service Agents dragged a raving Muñoz away, but Barba barely noticed. His attention was on her, and he dropped to his knees next to her, his head whirling. Olivia’s face was almost white, a fine sheen of sweat evident on her skin. The rise and fall of her chest told him that she was still alive, and he felt relief coursing through him. He reached out, wanting to brush her hair out of her face, but he caught himself at the last moment, withdrawing his hand.

“President Barba.” He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, please. You have to come with us now. We need to secure you.” He looked up to see Amaro’s stoic face, but he did not miss the slight twitch under his eye when his gaze drifted to Olivia on the floor.

Paramedics were pushing through now, as the Secret Service Agents parted way for the medical professionals. One of them took over from Carisi, effectively packing the wound in hemostatic gauze. Another one checked Olivia’s vitals, holding her wrist. She shook her head slightly and looked at her partner.

“Heartbeat’s dropping, and it’s erratic. We have to get her to hospital, stat.”

They strapped her to a stretcher, and placed an oxygen mask over her face. As they moved out, Carisi ran after them, intending to accompany his boss to the hospital. Barba watched as the paramedics and Olivia disappeared from his sight.

“Sir,” Amaro said again, trying to get the President’s attention.

He turned to the Secret Service Agent. “Prepare a car for me, Amaro. I’m going to the hospital.”

“Mr. President, I don’t…” he stopped when he looked at Barba’s face. His face was pale, but his gaze was steely and determined. Amaro had worked long enough for him to recognise that look for what it was. Nothing was going to change his mind, and one should not even bother trying.

He nodded, and touched his earpiece, requesting for a car. He then tried to recollect his thoughts, focusing on his training, thinking about what Olivia would do in this situation, and then to his best ability, he issued all the necessary orders to the rest of the agents.

Ten minutes later, Barba was speeding towards the hospital, accompanied by Amaro and two other agents, in addition to another dozen agents following behind in different cars.

* * *

The cars pulled up to the Emergency Department of the hospital, and Barba made a move to exit the car as soon as it rolled to a stop.

“President Barba, I’m sorry, but please wait. You know what we need to do.” Amaro said firmly, and then nodded to the other two agents.

Barba tapped his fingers against his thigh impatiently, waiting for the agents to perform the compulsory security sweep. After what seemed like an eternity, he was escorted into the hospital.

He entered the hospital, flanked by the agents, and he barely noticed the wide-eyed stares and the whispers as he strode down the hallway towards the operating theatre. He ignored all of it, and he supposed that it was un-President like and completely irresponsible of him, but at the moment, there was only one person on his mind.

He reached the operating theatre, where several agents were gathered, along with Amanda and Tucker. Carisi was slumped against the wall near to the theatre doors, the cuffs of his shirt still stained with blood.

“President Barba,” Tucker approached him, Amanda close behind him. “You really shouldn’t be here.”

“I decide where I want to be, Tucker,” Barba returned sharply. “You stopped me from going to the hospital after Eddie was shot. I hardly want the same situation to repeat itself, as I happen to think that it is essential for me to see to Deputy Director Benson, who was injured because of me.”

“Sir,” Amanda interjected. “We’ve managed to contain the press so far. Strict orders have been given, not one member of the media will be allowed within a radius of the hospital. But I will need to prepare the press statement…”

“Rollins,” he said, holding up his hand. “Right now, frankly, I am in no frame of mind to strategise. I trust you to do your job. Confer with the rest of the staff, and then brief me on what I need to do.”

“Copy that, Sir,” she affirmed, all too aware of the enormous task she had in front of her. This was the third attempt on the President’s life in a little more than six months, only made better (if one could say that) that it was all by the same person with a personal vendetta, instead of three different people with different reasons. The public relations and press management would then be an even bigger nightmare.

Barba took a seat at one of the waiting chairs, crossing his legs and leaning back as he waited. Silence descended upon the entire group as everyone waited. Even Tucker refrained himself from talking. Everyone could sense the tension radiating off the President, even if they did not quite know why.

“Mr. President,” one of the emergency room doctors approached him in a timid manner, and stopped short as two agents stepped forward in a protective stance. “Sir, you have a bruise at your temple and you should get that attended to.”

He automatically raised his hand to the spot where Muñoz had hit him with the gun, and felt a sharp stab of pain. He was surprised that he hadn’t felt any pain before this.

He mustered a brief smile for the doctor. “If you could help me? Please?”

She nodded quickly, and the agents took a step back as she sat down hesitantly on the chair beside Barba. A nurse came over with a tray of supplies, and he winced as she pressed an ice pack onto his bruise. The doctor pressed her fingers lightly against his temple, and then she carefully taped a piece of gauze over the bruise.

“Sir, it doesn’t look serious, but I suggest that you ice it every few hours, just to reduce the swelling.”

He nodded his assent, and thanked her and the nurse, and they quickly took their leave, more than just a little intimidated by the President and all the security surrounding him.

Time ticked by as everyone waited. Agents drifted in and out, murmuring on their phones or composing emails, as they needed to deal with the aftermath of the Muñoz standoff.

Finally, the doors to the operating theatre swung open, and the surgeon, dressed in scrubs, came out. He seemed taken back by the crowd of black suited men and women, and then his eyes widened considerably as they rested on Barba, who was getting to his feet.

To his credit, he kept an unperturbed demeanour. “Family of Olivia Benson?”

“They’re on their way but you can talk to me,” Tucker walked up to the surgeon, briefly flashing his identification badge. “I am her direct commander.”

“She’s the head of my security detail. If I may, I would like to know her condition as of now,” Barba spoke up.

The surgeon nodded crisply. “It was a clean bullet wound to her abdomen, but unfortunately the bullet grazed a major artery, so Ms. Benson lost a lot of blood. We managed to repair the artery, and Ms. Benson has been stabilised, but she’s still unconscious as of now. However, she should be able to make a completely recovery.”

Carisi let out a quiet whoop, and smiles broke over the faces of everyone in the room, even Tucker. Barba, on his part, let out the breath that he didn’t realise he had been holding for the duration of the surgeon’s assessment. A wave of relief crashed over him, and he muttered a silent prayer of thanks.

“Can I…can we see her?” He asked.

“Ms. Benson will be moved to ICU for a night’s observation. As per hospital regulations, usually only family members would be allowed, but…” the surgeon hesitated. “…if Mr. President would like to see her, the hospital can make an exception.”

“I would appreciate that. Thank you very much,” he said simply.

As the surgeon walked off, Tucker turned to Barba. “Sir, I suggest you return to the White House as soon as possible. The aftermath…”

Barba’s tone was cool as he cut him off. “Director Tucker, in future, if I need you to advise me on what to do, I’ll let you know. I am very aware of my role, and what needs to be done, but for now, I _will_ to see to Benson before I attend to my responsibilities.”

“Yes, Sir,” Tucker replied, swallowing his annoyance.

* * *

Barba stopped in front of Olivia’s private room in the ICU, turning to Carisi. “Carisi, please let me have a few minutes alone in there.”

He hesitated for just a spilt second, remembering Tucker’s orders, and then he nodded, falling back. “I’ll be just outside the door, Sir.”

Barba stepped inside the room, and walked closer to her, pulling the chair up beside her bed, sitting down. Looking at Olivia lying on the bed, still and pale, he felt his heart constricting just a little. The Olivia on the bed was so different to the one he knew, the one that walked into his office on that first day, and lectured him on his supposedly lack of concern towards his security, the one that was confident, brazen and authoritative in everything she did.

“Olivia, I believe I told you to ensure that my life would not need saving from you, or from anyone else a mere few months ago.” That came out wrong, as if he was blaming her or something of that sort (never mind that she could not hear him). He shook his head slightly, and then continued. “But thank you for saving my life again, although I’d much prefer it if you could save my life without getting hurt.”

He watched the rise and fall of her chest. “Seeing you on the floor…it was like Eddie all over again, but then, it was different. Eddie was my best friend, and you are…” He stopped, trying to put his feelings into words. He didn’t quite know how to explain who Olivia was to him.

“Losing Eddie was hard, and then _you_ came…you entered my life at a time when I wasn’t going to accept anyone into it. You replaced Eddie as Deputy Director of the Secret Service, and as the head of my personal security detail, but you weren’t going to replace who he was to me. You weren’t supposed to become anyone that mattered _personally_ to me, but…”

He looked downwards, and after a brief moment’s hesitation, he placed his hand over hers, curling his fingers around hers. “But you do. You matter. And…and I want you to keep _being_ in my life. I know there’s a lot of…complications. And it’s not just you, it’s me, too. I don’t know what’s going to happen from here, Olivia.”

He picked up her hand, and then rested it briefly against his cheek. “Therefore, I need you to be all right, because I think I want to find out.”

Barba lowered their joined hands, and then he placed her hand on the bed, and carefully tucked it beneath the blanket. He didn’t have the luxury of time to sit with her for a longer time, no matter how much he wanted to.

Standing up, he smoothed her blankets down, and then ducked out of the room, where Carisi was waiting patiently.

“I’m ready to leave,” he announced, and Carisi touched his earpiece.

“Abogado is leaving. Secure the hospital exits.”

* * *

Barba strode into the Roosevelt Room, right into a flurry of activity. Fin was conferring with Amanda and the rest of the press team, as they prepared the President’s speech and the subsequent press conference. Tucker and Murphy were sitting at the table, deep in conversation.

“Rafael!” He turned around to see Calhoun almost running towards him. She stopped in front of him, and then abandoning all protocol, stepped forward and gave him a brief, but fierce hug. She drew back, looking at him with a rare air of anxiety. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I am, Rita, don’t be unnecessarily dramatic,” he intoned.

“You idiot,” she snapped. “Do you know…” She stopped, as Barba gave her a quick squeeze on her upper arm, letting her know that he understood and appreciated her concern for him, but there were other more pressing matters to attend to then.

“Mr. President,” Rollins approached him, and handed him a speech. “The press has been briefed. You’re scheduled for the press conference in an hour. Let me know if you need any changes to the draft.”

He took the speech, and began scanning in. “Tucker, Murphy. Any updates on the investigation front?”

“Muñoz is in solitary confinement but he has asked for a lawyer. FBI and CIA has taken over the entire investigation process,” Tucker reported. “Secret Service will stay informed, but less involved.”

“I want to know, exactly, how did he bypass all the surveillance and security. I expect a full report in no more than three days.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Calhoun, I presume you will brief the Senate.”

“It will be done tomorrow morning,” the Vice President affirmed briskly. “I will also meet with the Speaker of the House.”

Barba nodded and began looking over his speech in detail, taking out a pen and making notations as he went along. “Tutuola, work out my schedule for the next two days, with reference to this incident. I do not intend to spend more time than what is absolutely necessary in dealing with this matter.”

“Copy that, Sir.”

There was a general sense of awe in the air as the staff watched their President, successfully slipping back into his role, authoritatively handling all that he needed to handle, despite the fact that a gun had been held to his head a few hours ago. If he was shaken by the incident, he did not show it the slightest.

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Barba returned to the White House, after a day of press, briefings, and meetings with senior members of the government. He was completely exhausted, and at the back of his mind, still more than just a little worried about Olivia.

Carisi had been sending him short text updates, and Olivia was stable but had not regained consciousness. Nevertheless, her vitals were strong and it all looked very positive.

He walked into his living quarters, accompanied by two agents, and then he stopped. Lucia was lying on the couch, fast asleep. He sighed, walking towards her. Perching on the arm of the couch, he gently touched his mother’s shoulder.

“Mamì?”

“Rafi.” She opened her eyes groggily, and then she sprung up, reaching out and hugging him tightly. “Rafi! Mijo! Estás herido?”

“Mamì, estoy bien,” he said reassuringly.

She shook her head, and touched the plaster of gauze on his temple. “You are hurt, Rafi.”

“It’s just a bruise. I’m not injured, I’m fine.”

“I was so afraid when I heard, and your agents, they are all so secretive. They told me you’re fine but they will not tell me more.”

“It is really a long story, Mamì, but I really am fine, please believe me.”

“They say it was Alex.”

“It was, but I don’t know any more than that, exactly why or how.”

Lucia shook her head sadly. “Jealousy and hate are terrible things. And I heard, Ms. Benson was injured?”

“Yes, she was,” Barba said quietly. “She was shot while pushing me out of the way. But she’s stable now.”

She looked at her son carefully for a minute, and then she patted his hand. “You are upset.”

“Of course I am, just a little. I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

She shook her head. “No, Rafi. You are upset, and you know why.”

“Mamì…” Barba said, his tone exasperated, knowing exactly what his mother meant, and knowing she was right, but he wasn’t about to admit to anything.

“A mother knows her son, mijo. I have always told you, Rafi, that your brain is too smart for its own good sometimes. You rationalise and think too much. You need to listen to your heart more.”

“I am the President, Mamì. I can’t administer the country by using my heart.”

“You know I am not talking about running this country.”

Barba sighed, and then tried to change the subject. “I’ll ask the staff to prepare the guest room for you, Mamì. We’ll talk more tomorrow morning during breakfast.”

Lucia understood her son very well, and she always knew when to back off. She nodded, and hugged him again, refraining herself from saying anymore.

But she could see it, rather clearly, his feelings for Ms. Benson.

* * *

“Clear some time before my meeting with Cragen,” Barba handed his schedule to Tutuola. “I will be going to the hospital to see Benson for a short while.”

It was early next morning, and he had just received an update from Carisi that Olivia had regained consciousness, and had been moved out of the ICU and into a normal private ward.

Tutuola exchanged looks with Tucker, but wisely said nothing, making notations in the schedule. “We can fit in forty-five minutes for a visit to Deputy Director, Sir.”

“That’s fine. And if there’s nothing else that needs to be discussed, I’m going to have breakfast with my mother.”

* * *

Barba walked down the halls of the hospital ward briskly, Amaro walking just as rapidly beside him. He didn’t have a lot of time to spare at the hospital, but he couldn’t not see her, knowing that she was awake.

He reached her room, and nodded at the two agents standing guard outside her door. Knocking on door twice, he then pushed the door opened, to reveal her sitting up on the bed, a toddler in her arms. A young lady was fiddling with the water jug, and sitting beside her was a tall, dark-haired man in a suit. He was talking to Olivia in an earnest manner, and to his horror, Barba felt a stab of jealousy shooting through him.

Which was ridiculous, because…well, it was just ridiculous.

“President Barba!” The young lady squeaked, her eyes widening. The man stood up as well, an expression of complete and utter surprise his face. Only the little boy seemed unperturbed, looking at him rather nonchalantly, and turning his attention back to Olivia after five seconds.

Olivia’s face was still pale, but it had a much better pallor compared to yesterday. She looked up at him, and her face broke into a smile. “Mr. President. Sir, I’m glad to see you’re all right.”

“Of course I am, Benson. But rather careless of you to get shot,” he said, walking closer to her, and placing himself right beside the man. Which was…not a wise move, because he then noticed that the man was well over six feet tall. However, he felt a childish sense of victory when the man moved out of the way, giving him room.

But then, of course he would, Barba was the President after all.

“Oh, that’s a very nice thing to say to your injured head of security, Sir,” she said, her old spark evident.

“Well, I believe I did tell you to ensure my life would not need saving from you after that first time.”

“Oh, you brought the jokes, I see.” She rolled her eyes, and then she laughed. Barba felt a jolt as he realised that they were talking like the way they used to, the awkwardness that had come over them when she disclosed her adopted son to him had seemingly disappeared. Swiftly, he grabbed the chair that had been occupied by the man, and sat down on it, pulling himself closer to her on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Mr. President, Liv,” the man cut in. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but perhaps we should give you some privacy to talk. I’ll be outside with Lucy, and we can take Noah as well.”

“Thanks, Trevor. But it’s okay, I’ll like to keep Noah here with me.” Her gaze flit from the man to Barba, and then suddenly she came to a realisation. “I’m sorry, getting shot made me forgot all about my manners. Sir, this is my nanny, Lucy Huston, and my lawyer, Trevor Langan. Lucy, Trevor, as you can clearly see, the President of the United States…and also my boss.”

Barba held out his hand, and Lucy was the first to take it, still looking shell-shocked. “Mr. President, Sir. It’s an honor. I voted for you. I mean, oh…uhh…”

He smiled graciously, and shook her hand firmly. “Thank you for voting for me.”

Trevor clasped his hand briefly as well, smiling. “Mr. President, it’s indeed an honor. And it’s so good of you to come by and see Liv.”

 _Liv_?

Barba felt his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline when he heard that.

As the door closed behind them, he turned his attention to Olivia again. “So, how are you feeling?” he asked again.

“Good, all things considered. They gave me some really wonderful pain killers, so I’m comfortable.” She gently eased Noah a little away from her and stroke his hair back. “Baby, can you please sit down on this chair beside Mummy?”

The little boy nodded, and scrambled onto the chair obediently. Barba looked at the boy, almost transfixed. He was a small boy, with curly brown hair and big eyes.

“My son, Noah.” Olivia said, following his gaze.

He paused, and then held out his hand to the little boy. “Hello,” he said, almost formally. Noah glanced his hand curiously, and then made a grab at it. “Hello,” he lisped.

Olivia gave a laugh, looking amused. “You have no idea how to interact with toddlers, do you?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” He said, still looking at Noah.

“Surely you must have kissed babies and played with kids in your history of campaigning.”

“Yeah, well, I tried to minimise that.”

A silence settled over them as they both looked at Noah, who had let go of Barba’s hand and was now looking through a picture book.

“Rafael, I’m sorry,” she said suddenly.

He knew why she was apologising, but honestly, in the scheme of things right now, he didn’t want to hear that. She shouldn’t be saying it. “Don’t say that, not when you’re the one with a bullet wound because of me.”

“No, I need to say this,” she took a deep breath. “You were right. I should’ve told you. I don’t know why I didn’t, but it wasn’t because I don’t trust you, or think you’re not important enough.”

“Olivia, you don’t owe me any explanation. You were right, it was your personal life, I had no right to…”

“But you’re my friend.”

He looked at her face, looked at the earnest expression, and it just came out. “Is that all I am? Just a friend?”

Surprise flitted across her face. It wasn’t as if the question was unexpected, given all that had happened between them, but for him to be so direct about it, that was surprising. And she wasn’t sure she knew how to answer that.

Barba waited, but she was silent, turning towards her son, and resting her hand on his head.

“I’m sorry, should I take that back?” He asked quietly.

“Yes…no…I mean…” she fiddled with the corner of her blanket. “I don’t know if I could talk about this now.”

“Olivia, I am going to be really honest with you. I don’t know where I’m going with this either. I don’t know what’s going to happen. But…I want to know. I want to find out.”

“Rafael…you’re the President. _President_. Every move you make, everything you do…and it’s not just that. I’m the head of your security detail. I work for the Secret Service. There’s so much to consider, I’m just not sure I can do this now,” she said frankly.

“Is Trevor Langan one of the considerations?” He blurted out, and then he felt horrified. What the fuck was _that_? Now he sounded like some kind of jealous adolescent with half a brain.

Olivia stared at him, and then she snickered. “President Barba, surely you don’t think…no! He’s my lawyer. And a friend, but nothing more than that.”

“But he calls you Liv.” Oh great, now he sounded like first-class, grade A brat.

“Well…you can call me Liv, too.”

He smiled at her, and then gingerly, he placed his hand on top of hers. She looked at his hand, and felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Almost as if this had happened before.

“Liv,” he said, his tone serious. “I want you to know, that I…I want something a little more between us. But I will respect your decision. If you want us to go back to status quo, back to everything the way it was before, I will respect that.”

He paused, trying to get his thoughts into order, and then he continued. “I came close to losing you yesterday, and it made me realise that you matter to me. Whatever your decision is, I don’t want our friendship to change.”

She looked at him, looked at this usually stoic and sarcastic man, the President, and she knew it was a feat for him to say what he had just said. It touched a chord in her, but she was still apprehensive. It was too difficult, it was too complicated.

But did she want it? Something more between them?

She would be lying if she said no.

“I’m not going to pressure you about this,” Barba said in a rush. “I’ll be in New York for the next few days, and then on to San Francisco. I’ll only be back in Washington early next week.”

Olivia nodded, and then she found her voice. “I’ll think about it.

He stood up, with an air of reluctance. “I have to go.”

“A President never stops,” she said, trying to inject a little normality back into the situation. He knew what she was trying to do, and he obliged, giving her a little smirk.

“One of my many sacrifices.”

His gaze drifted over to Noah. The little boy was sitting quietly, immersed in his picture book. “He’s beautiful, Liv.”

She looked at her son, her eyes soft. “He is, isn’t he?”

He had never been good with kids, in fact he had never genuinely like children, stemming from the fact that he did not know how to interact with them. It was a strange feeling to have, to feel that he truly wanted to get to know this little boy called Noah.

“Well, good bye, Liv. I’ll see you in a few days’ time.”

She smiled at him, and lifted her hand in a wave. He gazed at her, and before he could second-guess his decision, he leaned down, and brushed her cheek with a kiss.

As he left the room, Olivia raised a hand to her cheek, to the spot where his lips had been a mere moment ago.

“Wow,” she whispered to herself, almost dizzy with all that had transpired earlier. It seemed almost unreal, that the President of the United States actually told her that he had feelings for her. She was fairly certain that she felt the same, but the doubts and the apprehension were still as strong as ever.

Could it actually work, between her and the President? What would it mean for her job? She had worked so hard to get to where she was, and she wasn’t willing to give it up. What if it ultimately didn’t work out? What was going to happen?

Slumping back onto her pillows, she inwardly groaned. Noah looked up from his book, and then grabbed her arm. “Mummy hurt?”

“No, baby, Mummy’s fine.”

“Man bye bye?” He asked, pointing towards the chair that Barba was occupying.

“Yes, Noah, the President had to leave.”

“Preh-see-dent.” Noah tried to enunciate. “I like Preh-see-dent, Mummy.”

Olivia laughed, and then hugged Noah closed to her side. “I like him, too, baby.”

* * *

“You’re strangely chipper,” Calhoun scruntinised Barba carefully.

“I didn’t understand that. What foreign tongues are you using now, Rita?” He said, without looking up. 

They were sitting in the Oval Office, having a last minute meeting before Barba had to depart for New York. Calhoun lifted her coffee cup to her lips, sipping it. “I heard you detoured to the hospital this morning.”

“So?” He said nonchalantly, making a notation on the documents he was reading.

“How is Deputy Director Benson?”

He looked at her then, raising one eyebrow. “She’s fine.”

“Oh, that’s good. Have you told her that you’re in love with her yet?”

Barba, in the midst of drinking of his coffee, sputtered and started choking. “ _Excuse_ me?” he said, once he had stopped coughing.

Calhoun smirked at him, looking positively gleeful. “So, did you?”

“Rita, I am _not_ in love with Olivia.”

“What did I tell you about not bullshitting yourself?”

“I am _not_ ,” he said firmly, decisively. He had feelings for Olivia, yes, but it was far too soon to speak of love. Barba did not take that term lightly, not at all. In his forty-six years of life, he had only told one woman (besides his mother) that he loved her.

And that worked out spectacularly badly.

“You are not… _yet_.” Calhoun gave him a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin.

“Rita – said with all the affection I have for you – please shut up.”

“Fine, I’ll shut up, but that means you won’t hear what I found out about the protocol of the President having a relationship with any of his presidential staff.”

Barba sat up straight, shooting a look towards Calhoun. She purposely ignored him, turning her attention back to her work, humming under her breath. Minutes ticked past, and then he gave a frustrated sigh.

“ _Fine_ , what did you find out?”

“That it’s all right as long as you don’t tell anyone.”

“Seriously, Calhoun? I am not amused.”

She winked at him cheerfully. “If Deputy Director Benson means enough to you, you’ll find it out yourself.”

He gave her a death glare, but said nothing. Instead, he flipped to a clean page on his legal pad, and began writing.

* * *

“Thanks, Lucy.” Olivia lowered herself carefully on her couch as Lucy brought in the little suitcase of random things. She rested her hand on the side of her stomach as Noah clambered onto the couch beside her. There was a slight, throbbing pain, but all things considered, she had recovered remarkably well.

Lucy entered the living room again, with someone behind her. “Liv, you have a visitor.”

She looked up to Tucker striding purposefully into her house. “Benson,” he said, his tone brisk. “How are you feeling?”

“Director, what a surprise.” She forced a smile for Tucker. “I’m recovering.”

“That is excellent to hear. I gather you’re planning to return to work soon?”

“As soon as I am able to.”

“You do realise that you will be temporarily relinquished from your role in the President’s active security team?”

She felt a little flicker of annoyance. “Yes, sir.”

“You will be placed on administrative duty, of course, but I still expect you to be responsible for the President’s security detail. President Barba is returning from San Francisco tonight, and we will have at briefing tomorrow regarding the new arrangements. If you’re not able to attend the morning briefing, we can arrange via video-conferencing.”

“Thank you, Director, but I will attend the morning briefing in person,” she said smoothly.

“As you wish. Seven hundred hours tomorrow.”

Olivia sneaked a glance at her watch. Five o’clock in the afternoon.

Fourteen hours until she would see him again. And she still did not have a clear answer in her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish phrases via Google Translate:  
> Estás herido – are you hurt  
> Estoy bien – I’m all right
> 
> Yay, it got through Barba’s thick skull! 
> 
> Special thanks to barsonaddict for that little side plot regarding Trevor. ^.^
> 
> And whew! I kind of had a struggle getting this together, especially the paragraphs in the hospital. Changed my mind a few times, but ultimately ended up with what I originally had in mind. 
> 
> I hope this chapter is enjoyable – and as always, reviews and comments are 100% love!
> 
> EDIT: Barba and Calhoun's conversation part 2 edited. Thank you, **BenoightLarson** (ff.net), for pointing out that the Prez and the VP do not travel together. Total oversight on my part.


	8. 08: don't be afraid of tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chaptered fic; _only a heartbeat away 08 (don’t be afraid of tomorrow)_  
>  fandom: law & order svu  
> pairing: rafael barba/olivia benson  
> word count: 5004 words  
> note: a bodyguard-ish AU inspired by a tweet liked by Mariska and the #BarbaForPrez hashtag. Title of fic and chapter titles taken/adapted from Vixens’ Only a Heartbeat Away. More notes at the end.

Olivia scruntinised her reflection in the mirror, giving her eyelashes another quick coat of mascara as she frowned at her mirror image. Was that eyeshadow a tad too dramatic? Deciding it was, she took a tissue and carefully dabbed at her eyelids.

Catching her own eye in the mirror, she sighed, and dropped the tissue into the sink.

“Look at you,” she muttered to herself. “Acting like a teenager going to school to see her crush, when in effect, you’re reporting to the White House for _work_.”

However, in that moment, she didn’t feel like the Deputy Director of the Secret Service, that was for sure. She felt…well, like a teenager going to see her crush at school. She hadn’t seen Barba since the day at the hospital, and that was a good ten days ago. There were a couple of very quick and short phone calls, and there were intermittent texts in between from him, mostly asking about her recovery. She noticed that he side-stepped anything personal, so she did the same.

And the same time, it frustrated her a little, that he could just dropped a literal bombshell on her (the President telling her that he has feelings for her _definitely_ qualified as a bombshell), and then waltzed off to New York and San Francisco, and then never mention it in any course of subsequent communication.

As she thought that, she immediately felt guilty. He was the _President_ , for God’s sake, and she knew that that assessment was hardly fair.

Trying to collect her thoughts, she glanced at her watch, and saw that she had to leave in ten minutes to make it to the morning briefing. She grabbed her favourite lipstick and quickly glossed it over her lips. Grabbing her bag and leather folder, she walked out to the dining area, where Noah was eating cereal in preparation for school.

“The car’s already here, Liv,” Lucy said, replenishing Noah’s orange juice. “There’s toast, if you want to grab a piece to eat in the car.”

“Thanks, Lucy, you’re a lifesaver,” Liv said gratefully, grabbing a piece of toast. She hugged Noah to her, and kissed the top of his head. “Have a good day at school today, little man. I’ll see you for dinner tonight.”

“Lucy says we will have pizza!” Noah proclaimed happily. Liv raised an eyebrow at her live-in nanny, who chuckled. “Home-made with organic ingredients. Don’t worry, Liv.”

“I never do with you,” she said gratefully. “All right, I have to get my running shoes on. I’ll see you both this evening.”

* * *

Olivia paused for a moment outside the door, reining in her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she nodded at the two Secret Service agents standing outside the door, knocked on the door with three sharp raps, and walked in.

Barba was in midst of a discussion with Cragen, his forehead furrowed as he raised a point about the CIA agents stationed in Beijing, but at the sound of the door opening, he looked up. Seeing her, a genuinely happy smile appeared on his face.

She felt her heart fluttering. Barba so rarely smiled or laughed in all the time she had known him. The only times she had seen him _really_ smile or laugh were during those few private moments they had together, when they were not surrounded by staff and agents. In his role as a President, in the office, during briefing, meetings, all of that, his smiles, although sincere, were always tinged with an air of professionalism. But he was smiling, in his office, and it was for her.

“Li…Deputy Director Benson,” he corrected himself smoothly and quickly. “Glad to see you back on your feet.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she managed, summoning all her skills to look relatively unperturbed as she took her place next to Tucker.

He set down the brief he was holding, his eyes still on her. “And you’re feeling well?”

“Recovering very well, sir. I plan to resume active duty in two weeks’ time.”

Barba raised an eyebrow. “Two weeks? That is fairly soon. I should think you need more time off.”

Part of her was undoubtedly touched by his palpable concern, but another part of her was just the teeniest bit annoyed that he seemed to think she wasn’t ready. Because of that, her tone came out a little sharper than intended. “I’m definitely capable of returning to work by then, President Barba, I can assure you of that.”

The edge in her voice definitely did not escape him, as an expression of mild amusement flickered across his face. “I’m not suggesting you’re not capable, Benson. You were shot. That may need a little more time than usual for recovery.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but was interrupted by Tucker clearing his throat. “President Barba, I’m sure we’re all very happy to see Benson back, and we are all very concerned for her. But frankly, all has been decided and we will proceed as it is. And for now, we need to get back to the matter at hand as scheduled, and…”

“Fair point, Tucker,” Barba cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Then, Benson, I look forward to having you on my personal security team again in two weeks’ time.”

She did not miss that little side glance he gave her as he said _personal_ , but she hoped everyone else did.

“So,” the President rested his palms on the table and looked at the Secretary of State. “You were saying about Director Murphy’s team in Beijing?”

“They have begun the collaborative surveillance work with the Ministry of State Security. Murphy reported that they have not been uncooperative, but not completely cooperative. It seems that they had been holding back certain information from their surveillance in Xinjiang after the two bombings in 2015.”

Barba sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Give them the leeway for another two days. This is not going to work if they insisted on withholding information.”

Cragen nodded, tapping rapidly on his tablet, as Tutuola brought up the next item on the agenda. “Sir, on the matter of Alejandro Muñoz. The State Attorney will charge with him attempted murder of the President, but they’re also working with New York as of now. They’re trying to find evidence so that they can indict him for Eddie Garcia’s murder, as well as the shooting incident on Jerome Avenue. It’s going to be a long way to go before it goes on trial, but he’s being held without bail, so from point of view of security, there is no threat from Muñoz.”

Although he appeared nonchalant, Olivia wondered whether was she the only in the room that caught the pain that momentarily marred the President’s features.

“And sir, there will be a necessity for you to testify,” Rollins interjected. “I know your preference is not to testify in person, so we will try to arrange it so that you can testify via video-conferencing. State Attorney’s office is exploring the options.”

“Fine,” Barba said brusquely. “Keep me informed. Bear in mind that my choice for testifying remotely is based on the concerns of security. There’s no need for a spectacle at court.”

“The next thing we need to discuss…” Tucker leaned forward and began talking. Olivia leaned back in her chair, attuned to the proceedings, her brain quickly dissecting all that she needed to do as she took in the President’s schedule.

It had been two weeks since the last time she sat in this office and took part in the briefings, and she realised how much she missed this. Being part of the whole process, deciding on the security procedures, being party to the confidential decisions that affected the administration of the country, watching the President in his element...in the standpoint of her career, this was exactly where she wanted to be.

* * *

As the staff began filing out of the Oval Office after the morning’s briefing, Agent Dodds approached Barba as he was putting on his suit jacket. “Sir, the car will be ready in approximately fifteen minutes,” he informed.

“Thank you, Dodds. Bring the car around in twenty minutes, if you please.” Dodds merely nodded, touching his earpiece, speaking rapidly as he walked out.

Olivia bent down to collect a spare piece of note she had missed from the table, wincing a little as the action caused a slight stab of pain at her abdomen. She glanced towards Barba, who was tapping on his phone, not looking at her. She hesitated, not quite knowing what to do, and then decided to just proceed as she usually would. She was heading out of the office when his voice sounded out behind her. “Benson, if you could stay behind for a few minutes. I have something I want to discuss with you in private.”

She stopped, and turned around, putting on a quick, professional smile. “Certainly, Sir.” She nodded at Amaro and Carisi, who then exited the office. As the door closed behind them, Barba took two steps towards her, his hand extended as if to take hers, and then he stopped himself. He stood in front of her, crossing his arms, his manner suddenly tinged with hesitation. And for some reason, she found that to be utterly endearing – he was the President, and here he was in front of, looking unsure of himself.

“Are you really feeling better?” He asked, looking at her, his voice soft.

“I am, yes,” she answered. “Completely on the mend. I promise you, I am truly capable of returning to active duty in two weeks.”

“I don’t particularly want to talk about your duties right now, Liv,” he said frankly. “I want to talk about…us.”

The sudden turn of the conversation and his directness faltered her. “Uhhh…us?” She squeaked. Did she just _squeak_? Unfortunately, yes, she did. And just as unfortunately, she could feel a flush rising to her cheeks.

Barba tilted his head a little, and then his expression changed. The air of slight uncertainty he was carrying evaporated, and he took a step closer to her, a slight smirk on his lips. “Yes, us. I hope you have not forgotten our conversation in the hospital…”

She couldn’t even if she had wanted to (which, if she could be honest, she didn’t). “No, I haven’t.”

“Have you given any thought to what I said?”

“I have, but…” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know. This is going to be so complicated, isn’t it?”

“Do you think I’m worth the trouble to find out exactly _how_ complicated this is going to be?”

“Sir…Rafael,” she corrected herself. “It’s not that I don’t…there are protocols. This is going to be a conflict of interest. I’m the head of your security detail. I’m your _staff_.”

“I’m the President,” his smile grew wider. “I think I have some leeway to override certain things.”

“You know that’s not true,” she said bluntly.

His playful expression dropped, and then he sighed. “Liv, I’m trying to make this as uncomplicated as possible, so let’s start with simple, okay?”

She felt a slight jolt as he reached out, and lightly rested his fingers on top of her hand. His eyes meeting hers, he smiled at her slowly. “Olivia Benson, would you go out with me this Saturday night, for dinner?”

Being as familiar as she was with his schedule, she knew that he had no official functions or meetings or dinners on the said night. She grinned back at him, suddenly feeling lighter than before. “President Barba, are you asking me out on a date?”

“I believe I am, Deputy Director Benson. Your answer?”

He said they should start with simple. Maybe that would be the way to go.

“Do I get to say no to the President?” She smirked.

He smirked back at her. “I wouldn’t say you get to, not particularly.”

“Then the answer is yes.”

* * *

Tucker was beside himself that Barba wanted to go out for dinner in a public restaurant. Granted the restaurant wasn’t situated in central Washington, and was actually a considerably hidden place, but that didn’t stop the Director of the Secret Service from listing out the three million scenarios of what could go wrong.

Barba sighed. “Tucker. I just need a quiet night to myself. Is that too much to ask? I’ll have Amaro, Carisi, Dodds and Benson with me, including another dozen agents, as per my immediate security team. The route had been mapped, security checked, et cetera, et cetera…it was all detailed in this document, a document that you partook in creating.”

“Mr. President, it’s foolhardy to assume…”

“Director Tucker, I assume nothing. And neither should you,” Barba said sharply. “The President has the right to decide on what he wants to do in the rare event he does not need to attend to his official duties.”

“Sir, Benson is not even back on active duty. I’m not confident of her ability to be able to…” He stopped, looking at the President’s face. He cleared his throat. “Your schedule will be as it had been decided, Sir.”

* * *

Olivia carefully pushed another pin through her bun to hold the hair together. Instead of her no-nonsense twist bun that she usually wore for work, she was attempting a softer look tonight, and it had taken her a rather long time to fix it up.

Stepping back, she looked at her reflection. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a lot of clothing choices for her. All things considered, this was the President’s private dinner, and officially, her role there was as his head of security. She could hardly show up in a dress and heels.

Stifling a sigh, she pulled on a pair of black slacks, and then rifled through her blouses, trying to find one that that was perhaps a bit more feminine and dressy. She selected a salmon coloured silk blouse with a lower neckline – a blouse that she would normally not consider for work – but then, this was not exactly _work_ …

“What am I _doing_?” She whispered to herself, as she slipped on the blouse, tucking it neatly into her slacks. A part of her thought she might be committing career suicide, but if she could be honest to herself, she wanted this.

 She liked him. She really, really liked him, and the fact that he was the President had little bearing to the fact that she liked him. That had stemmed from months of working alongside him, seeing the hidden sides of him, seeing his fire and his passion, and his moments of doubt and insecurity.

Olivia did wish that it was as simple as a man and a woman, attracted to each other, deciding to have dinner to see where this might potentially be heading.

She wondered if it would be the best-case scenario, if the evening fizzled out, and they found out that they actually were as incompatible as it could get. It would be awkward at work after that, but she had faith in their friendship, and their professionalism for things to slip back into normality.

On the other side of the coin, of course, was that they would embark on the road of more complications.

And there was Noah to think of. Noah, her number one priority.

Shaking her head, Olivia tried to stop herself from thinking any further. Time was ticking, and the President was waiting.

* * *

Barba had tried to figure out a way that he could pick her up for their evening together, planning to use her injury as an excuse, but no matter how he tried to spin it, it just did not make sense for the President to pick up his staff. In fact, she was the one that had to go to the White House to escort Barba, along with the rest of her team.

So yes, this was a date unlike any date that she ever had. Not to mention that the man she was seeing was the President of the United States…

Fastening and securing her earpiece, Olivia entered the White House, scanning her ID automatically at security clearance points, before stopping in front of the room where Barba was waiting. Amaro and Carisi were already there, and they stepped aside as she knocked, and entered the room.

Barba looked up as she walked in. He was dressed in his usual suit, with a coordinating green tie and pocket square. She smiled a little to herself, thinking that he didn’t look any different compared to how he usually looked.

He stood up, slipping his mobile phone into his pocket, and fastened the buttons of his suit jacket, looking at her carefully. “You look…professional.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, and then he laughed. Stepping aside, she gestured towards the door. “Sir, the car is ready.”

He nodded, and glided past her, but not before he discreetly grabbed her hand, and gave her fingers a brief squeeze. The moment was over as soon as it began, but she could still feel the warmth of his hand as she followed him out of the door.

* * *

The restaurant had been closed for the night for President Barba’s visit, so they were the only customers there. Olivia had to give credit to the restaurant waiting staff, who acted professionally, and treated Barba like an ordinary patron.

Well, as ordinary as a patron with ten Secret Service agents as his bodyguards could be.

Barba settled into his chair in the private dining room. Smoothing the napkin over his lap, he opened the wine list that was offered to him, and then he looked up and spoke to the waitress. “Please arrange some menus for my agents.”

The waitress nodded, and retreated. He then gestured to Amaro standing beside him. “Amaro. Please get yourself and the rest of the agents seated, and have some dinner. It’s my night off, all of you should have some semblance of a night off, too.”

An expression of surprised crossed Amaro’s face. “Sir, that is very kind of you, but protocol wise…” his voice trailed off at the stern look on Barba’s face. “Certainly, Mr. President. Thank you.”

“Benson,” Barba said casually, closing the wine list. “If I may request you to stay with me in here. I think that’ll make you, as well as Agent Amaro, more comfortable, in terms of security.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” Olivia responded, praying fervently that she wasn’t blushing. She turned to Amaro and Carisi. “Protocol and the usual security measures still apply, agents. Be vigilant, and have a good dinner.”

They nodded, and walked out, but not before Amaro gave her a side glance. They had known each other for a very long time, since their days together in the Navy. She didn’t have many close friends, and Amaro was one of those she considered as one. He knew her well, and she knew that he was aware that something wasn’t quite normal in the current situation, but she also knew that he had her back, and that he would never say anything.

She smiled at Amaro briefly, and he gave her an imperceptible nod before closing the door.

The silence between them was just the teeniest bit awkward, as she stood at the door, looking at him. He folded his hands, and leaned forward. “Liv. Come, sit. Drink.”

“And smile?” She asked, and they both laughed, remembering another conversation.

“Definitely smile,” he affirmed, his eyes crinkling with mirth, as she pulled out the chair across to him, and sat down.

He handed her the wine list, and she shook her head. “I’m officially on duty. I’ll stick to water.”

He shrugged. “One glass wouldn’t hurt.”

“Are you trying to get me the break the rules, Mr. President?” She asked teasingly, setting aside the wine list and picking up the menu.

His eyes met hers over the glass of scotch he was sipping. “Always,” he said, his tone heavy with mischief.  

She shook her head, smiling, as she pursued the menu. They chose their entrees and mains, and as the waitress melted away from the table after refilling Barba’s scotch and Olivia’s water, he reached across the table, his fingers inches away from hers. He paused, and then withdrew his hand just the slightest bit.

“So, Liv…” he picked up his scotch glass, and took a sip. “You have to tell me what people do on first dates. I have forgotten.”

“Forgotten?” She asked, folding her arms on the table and leaning forwards, eyes twinkling playfully.

“I haven’t had a first date in years,” he admitted, a sheepish expression crossing his features.

“Years?” she echoed. “You’ve only been the President for one and a half.”

He gave her a look. “And you think I’m some kind of womaniser when I was a Senator?”

“Fair point,” she concluded. “Unfortunately, I am also extremely uninformed on the current _protocols_ …” she grinned as she said it. “…for a first date. I’m out of practice. As a matter of fact…” she hesitated, wondering whether should she be saying it, and then decided to forge ahead. “I hadn’t had so much of a proper date in a couple of years.”

“Surely not.” Frankly, he was surprised to hear that. She was smart, beautiful, captivating. It seemed impossible that she had not had someone special in her life in two years.

She shrugged. “This job takes up a lot. I was trying to advance my career with the Secret Service, clocking in 100-hour weeks for months. And then I was promoted, and then I was landed with the assignment of protecting an extremely difficult and finicky President…”

He snorted, rolling his eyes.

She grinned at him, and continued. “So, yes, being married to my job is not a metaphor for me. And, there’s Noah. Any extra time I have goes to him, and not anyone else.”

“Well, you don’t need your story of why I don’t have someone in my life. It’s self-explanatory.”

Olivia toyed with the salad fork on the table, thinking, and she decided to say it. “Not really _that_ self-explanatory. I mean, you’re our first bachelor President in over a century.”

“Bachelor President,” he scoffed, taking a sip of his scotch. “You make me sound like a promiscuous playboy in a bad reality TV show.”

She kept her eyes on him, waiting, and he stifled a sigh. “There isn’t a story there, Liv. Like you, I was, and am, married to my job. I knew where I wanted to be when I was Senator, and that was that. Dating just seemed like such a waste of time.”

“And yet, here you are, on a date. What changed it?”

His shoulder lifted in a shrug. “You.”

That one word rendered her momentarily speechless. Olivia felt her heart skipped a beat, and Barba kept his eyes on her, evidently waiting for a response. They were interrupted by their waitress, however, who set down their entrees in front of them, and then retreated smoothly. She stared down at her scallops, wondering if she should attempt to change the subject, when he spoke.

“Look, Liv…you know that when it comes to articulating words, debates, arguments and policies, I am second to none. But I’m not good with articulating feelings. I never have been. What I’m trying to say is…all this while, I never found anyone that I thought was worth my time to take that one step. But with you…as I told you that day in the hospital…I want to find out. I truly do.”

He looked at her, his gaze steady and unwavering, and he thought about how it had been _years_ since he was honest with his feelings. Rita was right, he had kept his heart closed, shut away in its closet for too long.

A beatific smile spread across Olivia’s face. “I don’t know, Rafael. I thought that was a pretty good attempt at articulating feelings.”

“I guess when I put my mind to it, I can be good at _anything_ ,” he drawled. His confident tone did not hide the sliver of apprehension in his eyes, and she could see it. Gathering her courage, she reached across the table, and placed her hand on top of his.

“I think I want to find out, too,” she murmured, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile, as he turned his hand up, and interlaced her fingers with his.

* * *

The conversation flowed between them easily, as it always did. They talked about anything and everything that popped into their minds, sharing snippets of stories from their past and present. She talked about Noah – something that she had never imagine herself doing on a first date, but then again, this was not really a normal kind of situation. She told him how he was orphaned after his mother died, and how she fell in love with Noah the first time she saw him, and then decided to begin the process of adopting him after fostering him.

Barba listened intently, wondering what was it that made a strong, career-minded woman who seemingly had no thought about a family, adopt a child. But Olivia was not talking about the whys, and he felt that perhaps it was not the time to ask yet. The love she had for her adopted son was obvious as she talked about him, and he knew that he would have to make considerable effort with the little boy, if his relationship with Olivia were to go anywhere.

The thought kind of terrified him, but if he could be honest, it was not as terrifying as it would have been in the past.

As Barba finished off the remnants of his chocolate soufflé, she laughed, and gestured to her lips. “You have chocolate sauce on the edges of your mouth.”

“Oh,” he said, and then he leaned forward, his eyes twinkling playfully. She looked at him, and then she shook her head.

“Rafael, you are _not_ asking me to wipe off the chocolate for you.”

“Why not? You did it in China. Without second thoughts, I might mention.”

She flushed a little, and gave him a glare. “That was different.”

“How so?”

“This is not part of the first date protocol, President Barba,” she responded, sitting back in her chair, her arms crossed.

“Oh, are we back to protocols, now?” he deadpanned, running his napkin over his mouth.

She was about to answer when her earpiece vibrated. A quick glance at her watch told her that it was time to leave.

“Amaro, get the car ready in fifteen minutes. On standby in five minutes. The President is ready to leave in ten minutes.”

A slight shadow flitted past his face. “Is it time already?”

She nodded, pushing her chair back and standing up. Sighing softly, Barba reluctantly follow suit, deftly buttoning his suit jacket. He waited as Olivia relayed orders to the rest of the Secret Service agents, efficiently slipping into her role.

As she finished talking, she turned to him expectantly. “Ready?”

“Yes, but…”

“Okay, let’s go.” She seemed to have forgotten all about their private dinner together, already in the mind frame of Deputy Director Olivia Benson, and it was frustrating him, just a little.

All right, it was more than just a little. This was hardly the end he had envisioned to their first, official date.

“Olivia, wait,” he said, touching her elbow, stopping her, and she turned around to face him, a questioning expression on her face. “Thank you for your company tonight,” he said quietly. “I had a wonderful time tonight.”

Inwardly, she gave herself a good kick. She was so preoccupied with the security procedures of arranging his departure that the reason of why they were there in the first place momentarily slipped her mind.

She smiled at him. “I had a wonderful time, too,” she said sincerely.

Barba took a step closer to her; they were still alone in the dining room. He reached out, and took her hand, tugging her closer to him, closing the gap between them. She was wearing boots with a low heel tonight, and that put her at almost his height. Eye to eye, nose to nose, mouth to mouth.

Her fingers tightened around his, and she closed her eyes, anticipating, when a sharp knock sounded at the door.

Her eyes flew opened, and she took a step back, as did he, when the door opened to reveal Carisi. “Deputy Director Benson, President Barba. We’re ready.”

Barba took a deep breath, and wondered if he could get away with throwing something at Carisi for his impeccable timing.

He probably couldn’t.

Nodding brusquely, he headed for the door, Olivia close behind him. She rested her hand on his lower back, a protective gesture he knew, but warmth of her hand and the pressure of her fingers sent a little skip to his heart.

* * *

The state car and the bevy of Secret Service agents were hardly inconspicuous, and as Barba exited the restaurant, flanked by his agents, he was aware of, from a safe distance, the stares, glances, excited, hurried exchanges between the people who were out for the night, and saw him.

The agents formed a protective circle around him, ensuring that no one could come close as Barba walked briskly towards the car. “Alert Rollins,” he instructed. “This will be over the social media in approximately ten seconds.”

“Copy that, Sir,” Amaro affirmed, his fingers already tapping out an email to Rollins, asking her to prepare a press statement if needed.

“Mr. President.” Carisi pulled open the car door, and Barba was about to duck in when he heard his name. Faint, from a distance, but definitely his name.

His first name, as a matter of fact.

“Rafael!”

He froze momentarily. He knew that voice. He had not heard it in years, but he knew it instantly. Slowly, he straightened himself, and then turned.

And there she was, held back by two agents, preventing her from getting too close, but it was her.

“Yelina.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry this took me forever. Real life threw things into a bit of a spin for me, and I hadn’t had much time to think of anything else besides trying to deal with whatever I need to deal with. 
> 
> I struggled with writing this, but at the same time, I just want to write it so I do not leave this story behind. While I do think this is not the best, I am happy enough with how this is overall. 
> 
> On another note, I promise no more almost-kiss. Next time it will be for real.  
> Reviews are loved and appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Note: this is a totally random idea that popped into my head after seeing the tweet – so I decided to run with it. I have the story mapped out in my head so I am not planning to drag this out for too long but let’s see where I go with it! 
> 
> I’m not American so I took a lot of liberty with the President’s staff and how Secret Service works (did quick preliminary research only) – but hey, it’s a fanfiction after all…?
> 
> Also – I know it’s totally random how I stuffed SVU characters into random roles…but it’s kinda fun?? Haha.  
> Reviews/comments are love, especially for something as weird as this!


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